


Deliver Us From Evil

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Accidental overdose, Clinical Death, Cluster Headache, Cults, Demons, Exorcisms, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Religious Guilt, Rituals, Smut, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements, Visions, josh and ashley are twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-10-23 11:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Josh sees demons, and Tyler mops the floor in a church.





	1. Chapter 1

_It was not a suicide attempt, it was an accident._

That’s what Josh tries to say as he comes to, as he comes back to life, to a severe pain in both his skull and his esophagus, because those humming machines have apparently sucked his brain out along with the contents of his stomach.

He opens his mouth, immediately feeling it flake in the corners, and his lips are so, so dry, and his skin is so foreign as if it’s strewn with the white powder. _He’s_ pale, he guesses. His forearm is all green-hued, with his veins bulged and bruised from the catheter that’s sticking into the back of his hand.

“Josh, dear, finally you’re awake,” his mother is sobbing restlessly, squirming on the chair beside his hospital bed, and Josh feels like a traitor. Not because he’s spent God knows how many hours unconscious, but because his mother will never ever believe him.

He swallows, though his mouth has been agape for long enough for the saliva to turn to dust. So Josh just gulps down these bile-tasting remains, probably consisting of the bits of his dinner, or lunch, or breakfast, whatever — he lets them slide down along with his apologies.

“We thought you were gone, Josh, the doctor said—”

His mother’s words are lost in the swirl of blood in Josh’s clogged up ears when he tries to get his head back onto its place or onto the pillow. His sternum aches.

“Your heart stopped.”

This gives him some clues.

Because Josh _remembers_ it.

No, he didn’t see the light or the beautiful golden gates with angels singing all around — there was the darkness. The angry one, black tendrils were creeping up Josh’s torso, squeezing the oxygen out of his lungs, and he heard a phrase —

_‘Calcium channel blocker toxicity.’_

And a  _‘cardiac arrest’_  one minute after.

_‘Time of death: 10:45PM.’_

Josh’s head felt light.

The squall around him stopped, and the room was filled with the combination of medical terms and codes; but then he suddenly was convulsing and vomiting up the brackish gruel onto someone’s gloved hands.

And then, there was the void.

“Honey?” Josh’s mother’s fingers trace his jawline. Josh is sure he looks like he’s just climbed out of his own grave, but his mother looks like she’s about to take the vacant spot. Again, there’s a twinge of guilt in his empty stomach — the disgust is the only thing that’s settling there.  

“Just wanted…” Josh rasps. He’s probably vomited his vocal folds as well. “The headaches to… stop,” he continues, grasping at his mother’s hand while she fails at wiping the tears spurting out of her puffy eyes.

Her face is dappled with deep wrinkles and freckles, more than usual, adding at least ten more years to her real age.

“Oh.”

There’s so much pain in this gasp.

There are so many drugs in Josh’s system.

Josh is miserable, but he _didn’t_ want to die, he didn’t try to overdose on the bathroom floor in his house, it was not an attempt to quit. _When one pill doesn’t work, you take another one, then another, then another, but the pain doesn’t want to subside, and you’re angry with yourself, and you take two at a time, or four, or six, or dozen — Josh was pretty sure he consumed a dozen —_

Josh wants to expound it, but the tubes punctured the holes in his throat, so his words are just a slight exhale. That’s all.

Never joke with a cluster headache — never joke with Verapamil. And they have told him: _‘check yourself out regularly, try to prevent it, see your doctor every week if you need it’_ — and Josh needs it. But that’s what he calls _desperate_.

“You’re so lucky. Ashley has been worried sick since morning, you didn’t call her, you didn’t call me—” the tears are brimming her eyes again, washing the color out of irises.

Josh’s heart is beating too slowly. He’s still half numb after all the procedures.

“Where’s Ash?” he manages. He wonders how many pins he should swallow to cause the same effect.

“She’s in the waiting room,” he gets a cautious response. His mother smiles, seeing him more conscious.

Everything in Josh is still jolting.

He remembers slender fingers with long fingernails, pushing through his teeth to get to the back of his tongue, down his throat, he remembers the long hair tickling his cheeks and this _‘Joshstayalive stayalivestayalive’_ mantra.  

“She made me puke all over myself.”

“Twin-connection worked just right, thank God. Ashley was the one who called the ambulance when she was just approaching your house.”

Josh smirks faintly.

“My savior.”

Scientists claim that the twins can predict when the other one isn’t doing fine, so Ashley had just proved that statement. Because Josh messed up, but it was too late to make amends. The heart monitor catches his anxiety with the rapid beep-beep-beeping, the IV keeps dripping the fluids back into his body, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. He’s dressed in pain, it’s in his veins, under his skin, it’s even in his hair follicles.

Josh is not yet capable of keeping up a decent conversation; that’s when the sense of dread hits him — what if those words from paramedics were the _last_ words he’s heard in his life? What if everything is just a delusion?

He still can’t believe he survived.

“You shouldn’t be blaming yourself, Josh,” his mother sighs. Her palms are rough as she grabs at Josh’s wrist and locks her fingers around the plastic bracelet.

He thinks he has to let her know.

“I didn’t want to kill myself,” Josh finally says.   

Though he’s been clinically dead, that’s the fact.

“It’s a miracle that they were still able to bring you back,” his mother utters through a hard gulp of air.

It still hurts to speak, to think, to breathe, this hospital gown is so scratchy against his most sensitive body parts.

“The Doctor is going to check you out in a minute,” Josh’s mother looks at the clock above the door. “Ashley wants to visit you. You’ve been sleeping all night long, so I bet she misses you.”

Josh is too groggy to miss her back. He barely recognizes the short gaps of being awake, he probably falls back asleep when he just lets his eyelids droop; Josh doesn’t even hear his mother’s prayer — his eyes are glued shut, and she still keeps talking to him.

When Josh wakes up the next time, it’s dark outside the windows, it makes him all jittery again, because it reminds him of his dream — he’s now aware of something red and slippery dribbling off his chin while he was hunched over the white porcelain, and his soul kept coming _out, out, out_ —

“Hey,” he hears a hoarse voice.

Hoarse in a way his sister sounds after having a good cry.

Here’s the face looming above him, a bit similar to his own but with softer features. A light glimpse of her septum piercing, a mocking smile plastered to her lips, bright copper hair gathered in a ponytail.

“Aren’t the visiting hours over?” Josh whispers.

Josh moves his legs a little to let his twin nestle herself on the edge of his hospital bed.

“These doors are always open for me,” she scoffs through a grimace of pain. “I’d ask you what the hell was that, but I see you’re not in the mood to talk,” she heaves out a sigh.

She’s right.

“Where are the youngest?” each word just cuts Josh’s throat out of the inside.

“Mom sent them to clean your bathroom,” Ashley responds, confusing Josh even more. “Just kidding, my bad. They’re staying at home, but Dad is on his way. He’s almost gotten a heart-attack when Mom called him.”

Josh wants to throw up into the bucket placed next to his bed.

“I overdosed accidentally.”

“Mom told me.”

“And she doesn’t believe, great,” Josh groans.

That gastric lavage has broken all of his internal organs.

“It was because of your headaches,” Ashley states. “I believe you. I know how shitty it might be.”

“No, you don’t—”

“Empathy, Josh,” Ashley taps her fingers on his thigh. “Remember that.”

And she winks at him.

Josh sometimes thinks his sister is a medium.

 

***

He’s discharged from hospital four days later, once his blood tests and his condition get better in general; he’s dreaming about lying in his bed and doing nothing, the silence is all he needs. Josh slips into the sweatpants and a t-shirt his parents brought to him this morning; he also needs his gauges and his nose piercing which were taken out during the hospitalization — luckily, he can finally take them back.

The doctors report Josh’s case as a suicide attempt which makes Josh feel sick. He’s not _suicidal_. His head just hurts way too much.

Josh is sitting on a plastic chair in a hallway with his brother Jordan by his side; Jordan’s moves are careful, and his voice is a pure honey as he speaks.

“How are you doing?” Jordan tears his eyes away from his phone.

Josh feels honored.

“Fine.”

“Mom was afraid you were interested in joining The 27 Club.”

“Nah,” Josh assures him. “I’m not punk rock enough, I’m not famous, and I haven’t even turned twenty-seven,” he rocks along with the chair. “It was just… I don’t know. I didn’t think of it. Gonna be more attentive while taking my pills next time.”

He needs to lie down, to close the blinds not to hurt his eyes —

“Sons,” his father sounds as worn-out as he looks. “Let’s get into the car. Your Mom can’t stop abusing the Doctor with questions.”

“It’s her trademark style, yeah,” Josh smiles.

His father’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile back.

Jordan hides his phone into the pocket of his jeans quickly, as if their father might toss it into a trashcan.

“I think we have to discuss our family dinner?”

“Why?” Josh frowns. He thought he was just coming home, coming to face his empty walls and empty rooms.

“You’re staying with us,” Josh’s father is a school principal, he used to speak sternly. 

“For a night?”

“For a week or two.”

This is what Josh deserves.

In the car, the radio plays all of Josh’s favorite songs, and everyone pretends that they’re just riding back home from a long journey, and all the family members try to ignore the dots and bruises from needles mottling Josh’s veins.

Josh wants to be invisible.

He’s almost lulled to sleep by the sound of engine, sprawling in the backseat and making himself as comfortable as possible. It’s almost impracticable though, all his siblings are here, and their family car isn’t big enough.

“Why can’t I just get back to my place?” Josh whines. He whines louder because Ashley digs her fingernails into his knee.

“The Doctor said you better spend the time with your family,” his mother answers.

“Great,” Josh hacks up.

“We need to watch you not to let you relapse,” his father clarifies.

“Relapse? What are you talking about?!” Josh leans forward, mostly arguing with the back of his father’s head. “I’m not going to! That was just an accident, and I swear I got a callus on my tongue from repeating it over and over again,” he spits.

“Josh, calm down,” Abby reaches over Jordan in the tight space of the car to pat at Josh’s arm. “Ashley has her own place too, but she doesn’t mind.”

“We all are here to support you, J,” Jordan interjects.

“You’re leaving for the college tomorrow, so shut up,” Josh cuts him off.

Getting stuck with his family for a week equals to a plague.

“You’re gonna get better with us,” his mother coos from the passenger seat.

Josh thinks it would be creepy if her head could just do a full 360°turn. He’s probably watching too much horror movies.

But now he just needs to focus on finding his peace of mind.

 

***

Josh is still as pale as a ghost when he stumbles across the hallway and contemplates his reflection in the full-length mirror. He can still feel the scent of the medical supplies ingrained into his skin and into his hair. Josh wants to take a hot bath, but he’s sure his parents would take it as a manifestation of a nearing relapsing. So he thinks he’s just going to take a shower instead, even though just to stand upright is a struggle. The hospital has unraveled him like a woolen clew, pumped his life out through his stomach, and his back aches because of that stupid bed.

“You’re gonna sleep in your old room if this is okay,” his mother startles him as she touches his shoulder from behind.

 _‘If this is okay. And if it’s not okay, I’m going to sleep in a car,’_ Josh quips mentally.

In reality though, he just nods. 

“At first, we wanted you to share a room with Jordan, good old times and stuff,” she gives him a sincere smile.

“Jordan is snoring,” Josh winces. “I think I’ll be pretty fine alone.”

“You will never be alone,” his mother protests, on the brink of snapping at him.

Josh bites his tongue.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she pulls him into a hug which is too tight for Josh’s liking, but his mother just needs an outlet for her feelings. “We didn’t know you had problems except…”

“I had a headache, that’s all,” Josh assures.

_A stabbing-stinging pain all over his right eyeball, ranging from his eyebrow to his temple, a hot knitting needle through his head, screwing in repeatedly, making Josh’s eyes water, sometimes four-six times per day, lasting from minutes to hours._

Sometimes he thinks he can spot the claws out of the corner of his eye. Long, cranked claws through his skull.

It first happened when he was fifteen, that excruciating pain in his head had made him curl into himself and cry, and cry, and cry until his pillow got soppy with his tears, and Ashley was calling their parents to try and explain. The second bout of headache made Josh pass out which was the only alleviation of his suffering.

When the childhood memories let Josh’s mind go, he finds himself surrounded by his family, all staring at him.

“What?” Josh shakes his head.

“Nothing,” his father utters.

And they pretend they were just making their way to their rooms.

“We shouldn’t trigger you,” Abby points out.

Yes, their weird looks _don’t_ trigger him. Absolutely.

“Josh needs to have some rest. Let him unpack his things and then go to kitchen,” his mother stops her silent mourning over the still-alive Josh.

‘Unpacking things’ is just a formality since Josh doesn’t have any belongings except this ugly duffel bag he’s still clutching in his hands; with that, Josh shuffles into one of the upstairs bedrooms he used to sleep in when he was a kid. His parents re-transformed it when he moved away, but some of the previous details are still untouched — these blue-green striped curtains, this wardrobe with the mirror inside, the bed is still the same.

Josh lets himself smirk as he remembers the tree right behind the window that had been scaring the life out of him a huge part of his childhood. Its branches still look like long, gnarled hands, and their shadows are almost ripping the curtains when they’re closed. That tree has become Josh’s inspiration once he grew up — that’s why he got a varicolored full-sleeve tattoo in the form of it.  _What is going to happen when the monster from the closet fights the witch from the tree?_ The closet-creature was a protector. Josh thinks it’s still here.

Josh dumps his bag onto the mattress, sorting his pants and shirts into the piles, trying to figure out if they’re matching. Wearing the same clothes for three days in a row might worry his family. They’re afraid of the depression Josh denies.

He’s nothing like those _weak_ emo-kids.

Josh is searching for leftover Verapamil, but it isn’t here. Of course.

“Now I’m going to complain each time my head hurts,” Josh accepts the challenge; maybe, he’ll persuade his mother to give him back his pills.

Josh grabs a spare t-shirt and clean underwear and bumps into Ashley as soon as he opens the door; it smacks on Ashley’s palm, placed on the handle.

“Wow, trying to spy on me?” Josh cackles humorlessly.

“Yep. Mom sent me to check you out,” she nods.

Josh slightly nudgesher, out of his personal space.

“She took my pills. Does she want me to pass out?”

“She’s going to control your intake of meds,” Ashley informs him bluntly.

This literally makes Josh roll his eyes.

“Amazing,” he drawls. “Am I allowed to shower without her presence?” a nod. “ _Amazing._ Maybe she stops being so worried after the dinner.”

He trudges towards the bathroom down the hallway when Ashley hollers again.

“Josh!”

He whips around so rabidly it makes him giddy.

“Twenty minutes,” his twin says.

Josh facepalms wordlessly; he guesses that his mother’s next step would be taking and hiding all of his shoelaces and belts. With these thoughts he enters the bathroom and locks himself in, undressing quickly and running the lukewarm water, cringing at the sight of his bruised arms. The streams hit these barely-healed sores, his ombre hair that is actually supposed to be bright-pink, and that’s when the ache begins to meander behind his right eye.

It’s not as intense as usual, dulled to a regular migraine which kind of discomfitshim. Severe headaches attack him rather suddenly, in closely grouped episodes; but this time it is mostly a warning, not too similar to the cluster one.

“Ow,” Josh gasps as the vague picture burns his eyes out. “Ow,” he whisper-screams, too sensitive to his own voice.

The vision is blurred by the water and by his eyelashes, and the rill of a bitter shampoo runs past his lips, but _it’s here_ , it’s in his brain. The acute pain covers Josh’s consciousness like a membrane, the transparent images begin to appear as if Josh can see right through them.

_Here’s a car crash, a red medusa is spilled out of the cracked windshield, the doors of the black mini-van are disfigured, and the hood of the Ford Taurus is now belonging to the driver’s seat. Here are curious people storming around, here’s the police, sirens, lots of noise and pointless hustling. The ambulance is here, too, taking the silhouettes out of the cut-open metal piles and putting them on the stretchers or straight into the black body bags._

_And Josh is here like a quiet spectator, unable to move, or yell, or help. He’s terrified by this sick performance, and his head is pounding as the reality overlaps this horrible dream_.

He’s seen blood.

He’s seen corpses.

He’s just probably fallen asleep in the shower cabin.

That’s how Josh convinces himself, lounging on the tiled floor naked, with shivers raking through his body and with his fingernails gradually turning blue. He doesn’t want to call this thing _a faint_ , he calls it a regular blackout, this has happened to him before, when the pain was just splitting his head, buzzing like a chainsaw —

The video stops, leaving the hole in Josh’s temple.

“Shit,” he cusses as the cold water hits the top of his head.

_It was just a nightmare. A pretty real one._

His brain now feels as if a chunk of it has been misplaced.

“I think I need a different kind of pills.”

That’s all what Josh can decide at the moment.

 

***

“That’s my shift tomorrow,” Josh says, picking at the spaghetti on the plate. The fork is stained with the tomato sauce that is the same color as the blood in Josh’s vision.

All the family members are eating in silence, only bothered by Josh’s question again.

“Mom? I have a shift tomorrow. My work, remember? I have to get up early; I can’t afford another day—”

“You’re not going.”

“What?!”

“We called your boss and explained your situation to him. He understood. And if you need some _special help_ , feel free to take as many days as you need,” his mother responds, unbreakably insistent.

“And when were you going to tell me?” Josh clenches his fists so hard the fork bends a little.

Does the ‘special help’ mean a psychologist appointment? Josh doesn’t need to talk to one. He’s not that kind of person who starts freaking out over some idiotic _dreams_.

“I wasn’t going to,” his mother says dryly. “You just need to take some rest.”

Josh just stares at his plate as if his gaze can devour the food, thinking of how he’s going to lose his job if his boss is now thinking that Josh is mentally ill. He works as a security guard in a local shopping mall; he’s got a pretty good reputation at not letting sneaky kids steal something from the aisles and sections.

And here might be the end of his career.

“I don’t need a therapist,” Josh grouches.

His father nods; Abby and Jordan start fighting over the video game that has been released recently, joking and teasing each other, and their voices hurt Josh’s ears. He gets up from the table, leaving his food untouched — it suddenly tastes like mold. Ceiling lights are too bright; Josh’s receptors are going to kill him one day. 

“Stay, please,” Ashley catches him by the sleeve, but Josh yanks it out of her hand.

“Gonna go to my room.”

“But Josh—”

“I need to have plenty of sleep, so that’s what I’m gonna do now,” he says sarcastically.

His chair screeches as he puts it back under the table.

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

This is mostly addressed to Josh’s back though.

“Not hungry,” he refuses, leaving the kitchen.

Josh’s stomach hasn’t fully recovered after getting all the contents washed out of it, so that’s why he can’t even think of having to keep anything down. 

**_Faith—Family—Friends_ **

A green and silver plate on the red wall above the fireplace; Josh wrinkles his nose as he walks past it — he’s never paid enough attention to this reminder. Josh just rushes to his room upstairs like an angsty teen who’s gotten grounded by his angry parents. He falls onto his bed, stretching on top of the blankets, with an intention of falling asleep immediately, but his shower blackout holds him in a vice-grip. He can still hear the rumbling coming from the kitchen, crawling into his ears like pesky insects, and Josh throws the pillow over his head to muffle the noises.

Josh hasn’t taken any pills since his accidental overdosing.

He sees no dreams.

Josh wakes up to the smell of waffles and to the sound of a working TV downstairs, and somebody is standing behind the door — they close it as soon as Josh lifts his head up off the pillow. He groans, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed; the door keeps swinging sideways, and Josh plods towards it to throw it open. He can’t tell if it was Ashley or his mother who was sniffing out if he died in his sleep — here’s just a shadow round the corner as Josh drags himself down the hallway.

“Morning,” he mutters, heading to the kitchen to get himself a glass of milk.

He catches a glimpse of the TV screen; in the morning news, the journalists are chatting about the car crash on Columbus Pike, and Josh’s limbs are paralyzed. He tries to conceal how badly his legs tremble and how badly his heart races as he leans on the kitchen countertop, gawking at the revolting picture he once saw.

“People are going crazy these days,” his father laments, scratching at the growing bald spot on his head.

On the screen, they’re showing the specks of blood and three body bags.

Josh is sure he’s getting grey hair right now, right under his pink hair dye.

“People have always been crazy,” Josh’s mother argues, scrubbing the dough out the waffle-iron.

Josh swallows before forcing himself to look at the screen once again.

The crash was caused by the black mini-van and Ford Taurus.

 

***

Josh goes to the church for the first time in many years, just because his parents ask him to. He doesn’t want to pray, because his heart is empty of any faith; he doesn’t want to confess that he has sinned, because he hasn’t. Josh doesn’t want to sing psalms along with his parents or sit on the pew with the other people.

Everything about this place makes him anxious. Flowers in the corners, the cross in the end of the aisle — everything. And Josh waits until the major part of people leaves the church, not knowing what to do with his sudden desire to scoot and hide; he just passes the aisle when he hears the slight scraping against the floor followed by the sound of the water being splashed out.

“Hey?” Josh turns to the noise, squinting.

Here’s a figure dressed in black clothes, it doesn’t fit for the whole pastoral view, but when Josh is about to stand up in the fighting stance, they begin to talk.

“Hey.”

And they movecloser, lugging the bucket full of dirty water and holding a mop in their hands.

“I didn’t know…” Josh’s throat is parched. “I mean… Sorry, I didn’t expect to see anyone like… this. You’re not a pastor, I think?..”

An elusive movement from the darkest corner, a figure reveals itself to the light. Their black clothes are actually an old hoodie and jeans, and their hands are covered with yellow rubber gloves. It’s a gangly guy, Josh notes mentally. Though his face is draped with the hood.

“I am not. Do you want to talk to the pastor?” his back is still hunched as he keeps cleaning the floor diligently.

His moves seem to be mechanic, as if this work is just a way to distract. Or, he’s done this so many times.

“No… I’m,” Josh falters. “I think I need to go,” he staggers away from the janitor.

“I can tell my Dad he has a visitor,” the guy offers, plunging the mop into the water once more.

“Dad? So you are… Nevermind, I’m so sorry,” Josh stammers, embarrassment spikes through his chest.

“Why are you sorry?” Josh’s interlocutor tilts his head and finally takes the hood off.

Josh is almost sure here’s the haze wavering over his face, as if Josh can’t see it clearly, and he needs to blink, then again, then once more —

“Is something wrong? Do you want some water?”

He’s waiting while Josh flops down onto the nearest pew.

“Water?” he looks at the bucket beside the guy’s legs. _Why does the pastor’s son mop the floors in the church?_ That’s the question of the day.

“No, not from there,” he giggles as he takes his gloves off, folds them and shoves them into the kangaroo pocket. “Normal water. _Holy_ water, if you want to get clean from the inside.”

Then he giggles again. Here’s nothing normal about that.

“Why are you… doing this?” Josh asks. He might exhale his own heart straight away.

“This is what you get when you’re a disappointment to your family,” he replies with a little shrug. “They want to keep it in a secret.”

“Is your name a secret?”

Josh doesn’t mean to interrupt him but everyone else’s yammers tend to be abnormally boring.

“My name is Tyler.”

Oh, he’s not even bothering about building a mystery around this.

“I’m Josh.”

They shake hands then, Josh’s pale one flaps against Tyler’s tanned one, with a clubbed thumb.

“I hope I’ll see you once again, Josh.”

He’s keeping his voice in a whisper as the emptiness multiplies the sound.

“Something happened,” Josh says after a pause. “It was a nightmare, but then it turned out to be the truth,” he isn’t sure what he’s doing right now, he just needs to drop some hints for Tyler.

“Was it about the fire?” Tyler raises his head up, but his glance is still attachedto his lap.

“No, not fire, something different,” Josh frowns.

“I’m dreaming of fire way too often. Hallucinating even,” Tyler digs his forefinger into the center of his palm. It leaves a pink mark here. “I hear people screaming, anguishing, I witness how their bones break and their muscles twitch in agony.”

Tyler’s face is all foggy as he speaks; maybe the dim light causes this effect, maybe the tiny flecks of dust, or maybe Josh is high on the cleaning products. Tyler smells like chlorine and olibanum. Maybe he is high, too.

“When I die, I go to Hell.”

“What? No, I’m positive that your Dad won’t let this happen,” Josh feels the need to encourage the poor guy.

“But what if he wants to sacrifice me?” Tyler is genuinely worried, somehow brushing away the mist off his facial features.

He looks like he hasn’t slept for eternity.

“No one is going to sacrifice you, I promise,” Josh doesn’t even notice that his hand is gripping at the hem of Tyler’s hoodie. Tyler glances down at it with a spark of interest in his eyes.

“You’ve been on the other side, haven’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“On the other side,” Tyler repeats as if it clarifies anything. “It’s in your aura.”

His gaze is like an X-ray.

“Are you, like, reading it or something?” Josh slides few inches away down the pew.

“Nope. There are some traits. People never come back the same. Taking a look at the darker world, we’re gaining something. It just stays with us, you know. We can’t avoid it,” Tyler explains. “I majored in psychology in college. Have you watched ‘Pet Semetary’?”

Josh hears the loud bang from behind and jerks forward, kicking the bucket and letting the unclean water puddle on the floor. The mop falls, the whipping sound reverberates through the church.

“Wow, easy,” Tyler chuckles. “Truth is hard to swallow, but you can’t skulk from it. So, what about the movie? I think it’s better than the novel.”

‘Pet Semetary’ is the most nightmare-producing thing ever created. When Josh was a little kid, he couldn’t handle more than thirty minutes of it without crying.

“Have you watched it, Josh?”

“Yes,” Josh practically hisses.

“Good. Here’s the same concept. They’re hovering above you as soon as your heart stops beating, you can feel their clammy hands, dragging your body down and down; waking up is always a shock, so they leave their fingerprints on your soul, and when you finally get your senses back — it’s not you anymore,” Tyler picks the mop up. “Have your parents noticed anything yet?”

Josh’s right eye hurts; he can feel the capillaries bursting here, splattering red over the iris.

“I don’t know.”

“You know. Remember what happened when Churchill died?” Tyler is really about to discuss the movie-plotting and dive into morality, but Josh doesn’t listen.

“The cat came back,” Josh says blankly.

He doesn’t like this analogy.

He doesn’t like being compared to a dead cat. Churchill’s death was just an accident, and — oh, Josh’s clinical death was just an accident too. But Josh is not a zombie-pet.

“A grey cat with the black soul,” Tyler nods musingly.

The picture of the blood and smashed cars is perpetuated in Josh’s memory.

“I need to go.”

“I haven’t finished.”

“Exactly,” Josh snarls. “You have these nice floors to polish, so get the job done, Mr. Preacher!”

He wants to smack his fist into this stupid sneer playing on Tyler’s lips, but he can’t punch the pastor’s son in the church. Josh leaves his fists balled up in case Tyler follows him as he _literally_ runs towards the door which is open and ready to let in the true believers. If being the true believer means being a person like Tyler, then Josh declines.

He can still hear Tyler’s voice, an incorporeal substance rushing through his eardrums —

“I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been there three times.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i need it


	2. Chapter 2

Josh doesn’t tell anyone about his adventures at the church. When his parents offer him to join them on their usual ride next Sunday, he just says his big fat ‘no’. Because here’s a possibility of meeting Tyler again. Tyler _scares_ him, even Josh’s _thoughts_ about Tyler make him break out in a cold sweat — and his parents notice it. They eventually notice a lot of things, but Josh’s severe anxiety takes the first place.

“I can’t stay here for forever, Mom,” Josh rebels, packing his bag in a rush. He also fights for getting his pills back.

“But what if you mess up with dosage again?!” she’s about to cry, her tears have always been the best pressure lever.

“I _won’t_ ,” Josh replies patiently.

“He won’t,” Ashley promptly takes his side. “Josh has his personal life, he’s fully recovered after the overd— he’s recovered. And, my sweet Jesse misses me, Mom,” she hugs their mother, waltzing with her away from the door so Josh can finally get out.

She is Josh’s shadow on their way to the front door, to the front porch.

“Call me every evening. And if you want to talk about this—”

“Everything is gonna be okay,” Josh places a gentle peck on his mother’s cheek. “I promise.”

He notes that he says this with the same intonation as when he said to Tyler that no one was going to sacrifice him.

 

***

Josh doesn’t have much time to relish his newfound freedom. Because the chain of nightmares starts to follow him soon after his long-awaited comeback to his house. Everything is out of place here, rooms unkempt and windows draped with curtains and a thick layer of a spider web.

_‘People never come back the same.’_

A gravelly voice keeps repeating this, changing the tempo, slowing down until it distorts and begins to sound _demonically_.

“Leave me alone!” Josh yells at the chaos in his head.

_‘I’ve been there three times.’_

Josh is sure Tyler cursed him.

Josh can’t escape from the circuit of the delirium Tyler has predicted — here are the obnoxious faces with their fangs clicking, here are the black tentacles crawling into Josh’s mouth and popping his eyeballs out of the sockets.

_‘The cat came back.’_

Josh scratches the walls in his bedroom until his fingernails begin to split and fall off, leaving the long red smears down the white panels. Same with the floor — there are deep, jagged lines in the hardwood, there are the band-aids all around Josh’s fingers. He hides under his bed when panic attacks hit and shakes until the sun begins to pour its rays on the ground, indicating that the torture is over.

He can’t find the remedy to this disaster, frightened of going to sleep, of going to work; drinking all the weekend long brings nothing but a sickening hangover, jerking off is just a mechanic process that is only a temporary cure.

Talking to Ashley doesn’t help either. Though she’s fifteen minutes younger than Josh, she never misses a chance of pointing at all of the mistakes Josh has ever made in his life.

Talking to his mother, Josh turns to the most hardened optimist. He thinks he’s gonna die with these _‘yeah, Mom, I’m perfectly fine’_ lies poisoning his lips.

He doesn’t recognize the features of the people surrounding him — they’re more of the masks with the bulged out spheres instead of their eyes, with open toothless mouths, each monster is different; some of them have three or four pupils, and some of them have the cadaveric spots on their skin — the delusions disappear when Josh clenches his bloodshot eyes shut and then opens them again. Josh would like to distance himself from the society, but it’s an impossible task — he is still working at the shopping mall, he’s thrown into the middle of the sea of customers.

And these crippled faces are like jump scares, they’re chasing Josh, and he can’t comprehend where he missed the moment when everything got so twisted up. 

Josh spends almost a half of his shift pressing his palms to the sides of his head.

“That cluster shit again?” Mark asks sympathetically. They’re working together; Mark has witnessed Josh in his terrible conditions before.

Josh hums in disagreement.

Josh wants to talk to _someone_.

Well, he even knows to whom.

And he goes to the church for the second time, checking his wrist watch and wondering if Tyler has already started cleaning the floors. The church now feels like a shelter as Josh comes in, relieved to find it deserted from any people. Josh only spots a man in a grey sweatshirt sitting in the front row, pretty far from him. Josh’s footsteps disturb the peaceful hush as he flees towards that person, but when they turn around, he almost loses his ability to speak coherently from feeling so dumb. The person’s hair is darker than expected, and his clothes are neater, his face is completely _different_ and doesn’t cause any optical illusions.

Josh even forgets about the manners.

“Where’s Tyler?”

“Wanna talk to Tyler?”

Josh nods.

The guy stands up.

“Sometimes I wonder how the people who are interacting with Tyler look, and well, that’s interesting,” he drawls, giving Josh an appraising glance. “I’m Zack, his brother,” he introduces himself.

He doesn’t offer a hand to shake and neither does Josh.

“Josh,” he says shortly. “But where’s Tyler?”

“He’s sick,” Zack is so unflappable it makes Josh angry. “Do you want me to tell something to him? Or give him a letter?” he smirks.

“No, nothing,” Josh tries very hard not to show that he consists of frustration.

“Has Tyler tried to brainwash you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dude,” Zack nearly bounces away when Josh gets closer. “He’s my older brother, and _I know_ him, and I also know that punks like you only want to meet Tyler to beat the shit out of him, got it?”

Josh thinks that after saying ‘shit’ in the church Zack is a sinner.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Really?”

Josh _wanted_ to punch Tyler, he doesn’t deny. But now he really needs to spill his grudges all over him.

“I think I’ll come later,” Josh flinches; here are two middle-aged women are entering the church and walking lazily down the aisle.

“Tyler has spent almost two years in a mental hospital, Josh,” Zack says, not paying attention to them. “Everyone who’s close to the church knows it. It’s my duty to forewarn you.”

Wonderful news. What a good way to know that the creepy janitor with the blurry face is an official psycho.

“I should’ve guessed.”

Josh doesn’t even want to figure out a thing about the sickness Tyler has come down with. He’s heard about this new kind of a violent flu that lands people into hospitals, so maybe that’s it.

“Tyler speaks nonsense too often, so don’t take it at face value,” Zack’s voice is almost soothing. “Live a normal life, bro.”

He just spits a chuckle at Josh’s back as he gibbers out a quick goodbye and hurries to find the exit from this _Hell._

 

***

“Hey, cool hair!”

“Hey— cool hair,” Josh laughs as he throws his head back.

Josh hates leaving his house with no reason, but Mark’s friend Jack is just a king of throwing parties, which doesn’t make Josh less antisocial. But he can admit that chatting to a cute stranger is somewhat better than lurking in Jack’s kitchen with a half-empty can of beer. He’s never met her before — long blue hair, high heels, extremely short shorts and an extremely open top.  

The music is inserted into Josh’s head, into his heart — this bit is terrible.

And this girl is beautiful.

She’s fiddling with her phone, looking at the screen then at Josh and sipping from her red plastic cup.

“Wanna take a selfie?”

“What?” Josh slightly chokes on a chug of his beer. He shouldn’t be drinking.

“A selfie,” she repeats louder. “For my Instagram. I haven’t seen anyone with such bright hair here. Except… me.”

Josh’s pink mohawk isn’t this bright anymore.

The girl’s long blue strands are just a piece of art.

“Sure,” Josh smiles carelessly, strolling to the windowsill. “Get here.”

And she huddles to him like a ruffled bird and shows a peace sign to the front-facing camera as Josh sticks his tongue out. One shot, two, three — satisfied, she puts her phone back into her sparkling purse. When Josh is about to go and grab something to eat, she kisses Josh’s unshaven cheek instead of _thanks_ , and then her lips are pressed to his, and she tastes so intoxicatingly-sweet that Josh abruptly changes all of his plans on this evening.

Her lip gloss is a dizzying mix of strawberries and liquor.

She’s slipping off the windowsill, rocking her hips in a dance motion and getting between Josh’s thighs with ease, leaning on his chest. Alcohol-soaked lips locked, glued together by the sheepish moans, and Josh is suddenly hot and hard and craving, and the cool glass behind his back is his only support.

“We’re not having sex here,” he whispers into her kiss.

“Wanna go upstairs?” she teases.

Just _a few_ cans of beer kill his diffidence to the point he’s about to have one-night stand without thinking of consequences. What happens in this house, stays here. Josh is eager to take the girl’s clothes off, to take off his shirt, to turn this lap dance to something more intimate; these hot fantasies spike up Josh’s desire, and he’s about to stop hating parties already.

“Of course,” Josh agrees fervently.  

“Do you want me?”

More strawberry taste on Josh’s tongue.

Josh just brushes her hair off her face, a silky wave over her bare shoulder, and this is the first time he _sees_ her.

His hand is on his mouth to shove back a yelp.

Because here’s the mutilated face with its mouth agape in a wordless cry, almost like on that Edward Munch painting, but it’s a 3D-version of it, and _it_ clambers to ride Josh, to kiss him again or to take his soul. Here’s just the bald skull with the chunks of bluish bast that is falling off and collects in the gap between its skeletal collarbones.

“Fuck off!” he swats its arms, skin grey-tinged.

 _She_ almost slams against the corner of the table when Josh jostles her away, her palms hit the desk. She’s not bald anymore, her cerulean locks are waving in front of her nose like the fringe. Josh _almost_ comes up with the trivial _‘are you okay’_ , but he’s terrified that the monster might disclose its spirit once again.

Josh needs to get outside, to get some fresh air, and when the girl hoists herself upright, Josh wants to smash the window and hightail to the _church_. He trips over and spills their drinks, a foamy puddle forms on the floor, and his feet are gliding over it as he darts across the kitchen and stops beside the doorframe.

The arousal is nothing but a dull pain in his groin where the girl’s hand was squeezing his balls.

“Was it a psychological trauma or what the fuck was that?” she asks, shaking her head confusedly. Her freckly, tear-streaked cheeks are sprinkled with glitters. She has high cheekbones and a turned-up nose.

She is _beautiful_ and angry.

“I’m sorry,” Josh swallows. He probably should go and visit a doctor to stop getting these ominous hallucinations. It’s humiliating.

He has no apologies to repair a thing he’s just broken.

The air bursts with the swishing sound, and at first Josh doesn’t realize why — his head is pounding more and more, and there is the palm-shaped pain in his cheek — here’s his punishment.

“Douche,” the girl kicks the can on the floor.

Josh leaves the kitchen as soon as she does, wandering through the drunk bodies having seizures on the dancefloor, on the couches, on the table, damn, they have even occupied nearly every step on the stairs.

They’ve taken all the oxygen, there is nothing left for Josh.

No one tries to stop him as he slugs towards the front door with the ugly hearts drawn on the glass part of it. The world around him is cold, all the night owls are sitting in their houses, drinking hot coffee and having romantic dinners, and Josh doesn’t actually mind this loneliness. He just totters down the street, step by step away from the crazy party, from those crazy people, but he can’t battle his inner craziness — it’s growing inside of him, it’s settling between his ribs, it’s like a cancer. He pulls up the zipper on his jacket not to let all the warmth evaporate out of him.

Josh takes his phone and plugs the alien earbuds so deep into his ears they almost touch his brain. The music comes on shuffle.

 _‘The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.’_  

Wrong.

Dying in dreams only brings anxiety.

Recently, Josh thinks about it so often. He thinks about it when he wakes up cocooned in his bedsheets, damp with his sweat, when he jolts awake holding fistfuls of his own hair.

_‘Mad world.’_

It’s cold, and it hurts, inside and out, and Josh only slows down beside the playground, when he physically can’t keep walking. He sits on the squeaky swings, dragging his toes in the dirty sand below and listens to the song on repeat; when _Mad World_ plays for the tenth time, he’s aware of the slight movement on his left. Josh rips the earbuds out of his ears, ready to kick the bastard’s ass —

“The cat came back,” Tyler quotes the old song just like Josh did a while ago.

_He just couldn’t stay away._

“I was about to crap my pants!” Josh shouts, recoiling from him.

Tyler hooks his arms over the chains attached to the swing seat.

“I know.”

“Are you happy now?” Josh grumbles accusingly. His aspiration to punch Tyler dissipates as he notices that Tyler hasn’t apparently had fun times.

His busted lips are scab-covered, here’s the red-specked butterfly bandage on his forehead, and the outlines of Tyler’s huge blackeye are similar to the shape of Australia on the map.

“You wanted to talk,” Tyler slumps his shoulders.

_Wanted to talk to a psycho about your schizophrenia, Josh._

Josh feels like he’s been fooled by Tyler’s family.

“Your brother told me that you were sick.”

“I was. I literally couldn’t get up off the bed.”

Tyler looks kind of like he might hurl.

“What are you doing _here_?” this question might be followed by _‘what caused you to look like a rotten pear’_ , but Josh doesn’t cross the line.

The answer is simple.

“Stalking you.”

“Fuck off.”

They keep their comments to themselves, and Josh can’t pick whose clothes look odder — his jacket with _I WANT TO BELIEVE_ on the back or Tyler’s blue windcheater with _Adidas_ on the front.

“You’ve seen something, haven’t you?” Tyler half asks half states.

Josh loathes it already, but he nods.

“Don’t worry about it, Josh. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

Still semi-drunk, Josh wants to throw him off the swings.

“Here are these horrendous faces all around me,” Josh mutters, staring at his footprints in the trampled dirt.

“Yeah,” Tyler’s exhale is visible, like a cigarette smoke. “You’re luckier than me. You can at least see them, and I can just _feel_ them, but it’s too late to sort the things out. But I can kick them out. We could collaborate one day, you know.”

Tyler winks at him.

“Are you like, concussed?” Josh leans over the chain to check out if Tyler is joking.

“You’re able to see the _demons_ , haven’t you realized yet? The uglier the person’s face the stronger their demon is,” Tyler throws explanations like pebbles.

One half of Josh’s heart is drowning in skepticism but the other half is soggy from Tyler’s words.

“And…” Josh scratches the back of his neck. “Are _all of them_ demons?”

He can’t believe he’s saying it.

He can’t believe Tyler responds without a hint of taunt.

“No. Yes, all of them have their internal demons, but not everyone is _possessed_. Some of them are just fighting depressions, unhealthy coping mechanisms like drug-addiction or alcoholism; some of them have committed crimes, and it will hang on their necks like a boulder. But here’s nothing paranormal,” Tyler rubs his bruise, nipping at the skin under his left eye. “But some of them are the _real_ evil, just like in _The Exorcist_ movie.”

“Why do I see them?” Josh focuses on Tyler’s facial expression — a dude like him should definitely have tons of demons.

But Josh doesn’t notice anything except scrapes and blur.

“You just look into their _souls_ ,” Tyler says. “But sometimes here’s nothing where the soul should be. And you should thank God you don’t notice the _little_ imperfections; you are only alarmed when there’s something significant,” he pauses. “I saw you with the girl, by the way.”

 _Screech. Screech. Screech._ Freddy Krueger’s claws were skirring the same way when he was clanging them across the pipes in the basement.

“Have you gotten laid?” Tyler inquiries with the candid curiosity.

“I want to knock you out, is it wrong?” Josh grips at the swing seat not to resort to violence.

“I dunno. I’m still woozy after the _encounter,_ so it’ll probably facilitate the task,” Tyler closes his eyes with the sigh. “I was just standing outside, near the tree. I could watch you from a perfect angle, but you had no idea I was there all the time. So, what happened after? Does your cheek hurt?”

Josh fecklessly presses his fingers to the sore spot.

“I think I _saw her soul_. It looked like an exsiccated witch.”

“Well, it explains everything,” Tyler concludes.

Josh shakes from cold and his heavy memories.

“What was her demon?”

Tyler rolls his eyes skywards.

“She wanted to be _perfect_ so bad she turned that to the addiction. Read: to a possession.”

“Perfect? What’s wrong with that?!” Josh exclaims.

Tyler brings two of his fingers to his mouth and lets out a slight gagging noise.

“The way she was doing that, Josh.”

Josh fidgets.

“How did you know?”

“Intuition. I majored in—”

“Psychology, I remember.”

Josh sometimes regrets he didn’t go to college.

Josh thinks back of that girl — that’s why she looked like a skeleton in his vision, but in real life she just needed professional medical help; Josh is now reproving himself every second — he was just an asshole and had hurt her even more. He’s determined to talk to the next hostage of their inner demon when he next time catches them.

He’s given a _power_ ; he can’t just wave it away.

The silence is frightening, and Tyler is sitting next to him with his head tilted to his shoulder.

“Hey man?” Josh reaches to prod at his upper arm.

“Mhm?”

And Josh only proves his status of an antisocial person.

“Why did your family send you to the nuthouse?”

“I wrote a song about Taco Bell.”

A nervous giggle rips its way out of Josh’s throat as he hears this.

“No, Tyler, I’m serious. Was it because of your… you said you can feel the demons?”

Tyler nods weakly.

“I can make them go away.”

“Like… exorcism?”

“Something like that. I’m not handling it well though.”

Pity coils deep in Josh’s chest.

“It’s really late, and… I’m calling a taxi cab to get home, so… do you have a place to stay for a night?”

Tyler blinks, eying Josh as if he sees him for the first time.

“I have to get back to the church. It’s just a few blocks away.”

“Really? Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” Josh takes a mental note to drop Tyler off there. Leaving a beaten guy alone in the sandlot at night could be the most asshole-style thing.

“Yeah. Josh,” Tyler straightens his back. “When something like this happens again, can you let me know? Please?”

Exchanging phone numbers doesn’t hurt, Josh thinks, taking his phone out and handing it over to Tyler.

“Deal.”

Josh can always pretend he keeps his fingers crossed.

 

***

 **Ash:** _Did you know that your paranoia was contagious?_

 **Josh:** _what_

 **Ash:** _I feel like somebody’s following me step by step. I swear I see them out of the corner of my eye sometimes. Remember, you mentioned that? Yay, twin connection!_

 **Josh:** _shit. you got me worried. call the police maybe?_

 **Ash:** _Stupid. I think it’s one of Jesse’s friends_

 **Josh:** _his friends are a-holes and so is he_

 **Ash:** _Don’t be so pissed. We’re planning the wedding anyway_

 **Josh:** _is something watching you right now?_

 **Ash:** _I dunno. I think the coast is clear_

 **Josh:** _i’ll call you when my shift ends_

Josh pockets his phone, reaching for a giant cup of coffee. This conversation can last for forever, because his family can’t get the fact that Josh is not disabled. Well, he might still get overdosed on caffeine though.

His head doesn’t hurt even.

But his frenzy hurts him, he feels sick, he understands what Ashley is talking about — he feels the same way, a pair of evil eyes is chasing him, gawping at him from the wall.

He and Mark are just hanging out in their room which Mark calls an _office_ ; it’s the lunch time, but Josh can’t bring himself for having any food.

“Are you ‘kay?” Mark pauses The Walking Dead he’s watching on his tablet. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine. Thanks for your concern though,” Josh chuckles gloomily.

He’s afraid that one of his dreams might be the prophecy again and he will never know: _a kid falling off the tree and smashing his head on the stone below, a woman hitting her husband in the abdomen with a rose-shaped bottleneck, a blazing fire in a travel trailer by the roadside._ Tyler has told him about the fire.

Josh glances at the monitor, checking the sections abstractedly and seeing the customers flocking down the aisles like the ants.

“Who’s that?” Josh’s hands are vibrating as he detects a man in a strict suit and a plastic mask of a rabbit on his face.

“What?” Mark peers into the screen along with Josh.

“That dude. Rabbit mask,” Josh points at him with his forefinger.

“Are you pranking me?” Mark laughs hesitantly.

Here’s something perturbing.

The man is standing right below the camera in the section 403. Here are the bathtubs, shower cabins, fixtures and fittings and other bathroom stuff, and the Slenderman-like figure doesn’t fit for it. The black and white cameras don’t translate the sound, but Josh can still hear the clink of the glass shreds scattering all over the tiles when the cupboard with the mirror on the front crashes down right behind the Rabbit Mask’s back.

“Oh shit,” Mark jumps away, slumping into his office chair.

Here are a few other customers: a man, a woman with the little girl — she throws her head up as if she’s getting mental signals, and Josh is hypnotized by the horror and aversion. Her tiny face is an illegible blend of the grays and blacks with her eyes oozing down her cheeks like two trails of tar.

“Do you see this?!” Josh screams, slapping the side of the monitor and gripping at the walkie-talkie on his belt. “She’s a _demon_ — Oh _God_.”

Nausea begins to torment his stomach when the girl saunters towards the nearest shower cabin and rips the tinted door out of it along with the metal panels — and she hurls it accurately at an unaware man who just glances at the faucets. The woman hastens to restrain her from behind, but the girl shoves her away with an inhuman power, making her fly a few feet in the air and land into the empty bathtub. She doesn’t move. Rabbit Mask gives her a confident nod, then looking at the camera again.

“Come on, _come on_ , Mark,” Josh shakes his co-worker by the shoulders, clasping his gun and rushing out of the room.

“Did you see it?!” Mark shouts as they sprint down the flight of stairs to reach for the section 403 as soon as possible. “What the hell is wrong with that girl? She could fucking kill that dude!”

“I hope she didn’t,” Josh rasps, teeth clenched.

They arrive there in seconds just to observe the tragedy in all its horrific glory — a motionless man is sprawled on the floor, flattened by the cracked door of the shower cabin, with his shoes peeking out of it, a red pool sloshes by the side of his head; an unconscious woman is still lying in the bathtub with her hand dangling off the edge of it.

Josh is promptly greeted by the chrome faucet flying directly in his head; he dodges, and it gets stuck in another mirror instead of his brainpan. The _possessed_ girl is hissing like a snake, licking her lips with her _forked_ tongue, standing with her feet shoulder-width apart and aiming to throw another faucet.

“Put this thing down!” Mark orders.

Mark is not good with kids.

The faucet thuds against his right bicep, making him clutch at it and bend over in pain. But, worst of all, here’s the crowd of the curious onlookers, they’re gathering in the neighboring section, and Josh is still the only one who knows the reason of the riot. For a second, Josh makes an eye contact with the baby-monster, but it’s enough for him to start losing consciousness — but he can’t jeopardize the customers —

“Get out! It’s not a show, take the kids and get _the fuck_ out!” Josh’s voice gets raucous when the Rabbit Mask makes appearance again.

He claps his hands.

The girl bellows and tosses a kitchen sink into the crowd, the glass wall turns to a shower of glittery debris, and it works better than Josh’s command.

He pulls the gun out of the holster, taking a step back not to let the girl go ahead and whip it out of his palm. If shooting her is the only solution, Josh doesn’t know how he’s going to live with it; Mark is already calling the ambulance, the girl grabs the long sharpened chunk of glass and sticks it right into her arm, cutting it diagonally. A red fountain spurts out of the incision, and the girl’s facial features change dramatically.

Here are no deep wrinkles, no putrid eyes, no delirious grin — it’s just a little girl, who slouches beside her unconscious mother and cries.

“Wh-y-y do you want to kill me, m-mister?” she hiccups, pulling her knees to her chest. “What happened to my Mommy?” she’s grasping at her hand, red is dripping onto her flowery dress.

“Your Mommy is gonna be okay,” Josh mumbles, unsure if he can take the gun away.

The fear entangles over the every cell in his body when he looks around — here are other security guards jogging to the section 403, here are the paramedics hovering over the man on the floor, they are picking the woman out of the bathtub and laying her onto the stretcher. A guy in the white coat bandages the girl’s hand while she sobs hysterically.

When they move the shower door off the man, Josh almost keels over right beside him. His head is squashed, it’s gotten exploded like a tomato, his blood and brain and skull are smudged down the floor, and it is much worse than Josh was imagining it.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

Josh doesn’t know who it is — the owner of the shopping mall, one of the paramedics or the police officer — he shakes his head and heads towards the bathroom, sealing his lips with his trembling hand.

_Sometimes there’s nothing where the soul should be._

He needs to breathe but he can’t, doubling over and throwing up into the sink as soon as he walks in, brownish liquid spills out of his mouth and out of his nose as he tries to hold it back, and he’s choking, erratically gulping the air in between heaves. In his mind, the water turns to blood, and Josh pukes again, spewing out his morning coffee and the lunch he’s skipped.

_Some of them are the real evil._

Josh runs the cold water and plunges his head into the stream, washing away his vomit and his hair dye. He stays here, panicked by the thought of getting back to work and get asked about the incident. Though, technically, he hasn’t done anything against the rules.

When he’s done with cleaning himself up, he looks at the mirror above the sink — and, for a split second, here’s a man with the rabbit mask on his face. Josh snatches the gun and whips around — and he’s aiming for the closed door.

Rabbit Mask is gone.

Josh lays the gun on the counter just to have it closer and takes his phone, sending one short message.

 **Josh:** _i got the vids_

He guffaws like a maniac when the reply pops up.

 **Tyler:** _sleepover?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ rabbit mask](http://static.keptelenseg.hu/p/dd7362e418f73a74bde09742f3438fbe.jpg) idea


	3. Chapter 3

When Tyler sends him an address, Josh braces himself for entering a basement with a single mattress on the fungus-covered floor. But, contrary to Josh’s assumptions,Tyler is living in _his own_ house in Columbus suburbs.

 _‘Isn’t he on suicide watch or something?’_  

Josh knocks at the door, once, twice, three times, freezing in a Maneki-Neko posture as Tyler finally opens it.

“Wanna talk about Ruby Rixton?” he asks without any _hello_.

Josh is taken aback.

“About whom?”

“About the girl who has allegedly killed a man. The Internet is much faster than your car,” Tyler peeks out of the door, checking the front yard. “Come in,” his fingers sink into Josh’s sleeve, practically yanking him inside. And well, here’s no fungus. Tyler leads him down the hall cluttered with the boxes on the floor, into the room where he flops down onto the bed, his open laptop is already here.

Josh is going to get fired for copying the videos from the security cameras while Mark was still talking to the police.

Josh warily hands Tyler a flash drive, as if it might explode.

“Ruby and Louisa, her mother, are going to be fine. Well, physically,” Tyler says, while they’re waiting for the videos to be shown. “They’re in the hospital now.”

Something that can be the good news.

“But their mental state is screwed up.”

Josh doesn’t let himself avert his eyes when the black and white frames begin to change each other on the screen. Tyler rewinds the hours when everything was calm, but Josh tells him to stop when they reach the lunchtime.

“Here,” Josh whispers.

He’s now lying on the bed, on his stomach, next to Tyler.

Tyler fiddles with his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he watches the tapes, fascinated. And Josh is fascinated, too, it’s almost like making your best friend play a Scary Maze, anticipating to hear them yelling along with the game. Tyler quivers and pauses the video when the Rabbit Mask begins to hypnotize the camera.  

And that’s when the catastrophe happens.

“They’re back, they’re back, back, _back_ ,” Tyler gnaws on his skinned knuckles. “They’re back.”

Maybe Josh is not that sick. Or maybe he’s as sick as Tyler is.

“You see him,” Josh concludes.

When the blood drains off Tyler’s face, his fading bruises seem to be brighter; Josh is afraid that this video might impact on Tyler’s mental health as well.

“Dead Rabbit,” Tyler just says.

“What?!”

This Rabbit isn’t dead, he isn’t —  

“It’s the cult, the most powerful one,” Tyler presses _play_ again.

The girl kills a man with the door from the shower cabin. His brain tissues spill all over the floor like a jam from the cracked glass jar. Josh’s churning stomach is about to twist itself inside out once more.

Tyler taps the pads of his fingers against the touchpad.

“Did she say something?”

“Did you see her face?” Josh asks at the same time.

“Oh, _sorry_. She’s a beautiful kid though she is a monster,” Tyler sighs. “I _don’t_ see the demon, but I can tell she’s truly possessed — abnormal strength is the first sign. The distorted voice is the second,” he continues.

“She was just hissing,” Josh interjects.

“That’s just the beginning. And the third sign is not for everyone — these creatures sometimes show their real faces, but you have to be a prophet to see it.”

“I’m a prophet, how sweet,” Josh quips.

“You are.”

“But her face was normal when that shit ended, is she free now?”

“Hey, it’s not that easy,” Tyler chortles. “Her case requires a full-fledged exorcism.”

Rabbit Mask gawks at them from the screen.

“You are joking, right?”

“No,” Tyler frowns. “We need to contact Rixton family and get the job done.”

“To take Ruby to the church?” Josh guesses.

“Go to their house and perform the ritual,” Tyler blurts out. “Well, sorry. You don’t know much about these things, but I’d prefer to stop it before the girl kills somebody else.”

Nice intention.

“Why do you see the Rabbit? Tell me,” Josh demands.

This just can’t be a typical ‘ghost caught on tape’ thing.

“It’s a long story,” Tyler huffs cagily.

“We’re having a sleepover. We have the whole night.”

Of course, Josh wasn’t going to stay at Tyler’s for a night. But his brittle plans tend to get shattered.

He shouldn’t be here.

Tyler might just infect him.

“I don’t believe in God the way I’m supposed to,” Tyler speaks grudgingly. “I know I have to, especially when I’m working with such paranormal things, but I’m sure it’s not _God_ who’s helping me, it’s just _me,_ face to face with evil forces. The first time I _felt_ the demon I was fourteen. My Uncle tried to jugulate my Aunt when they had been staying at our house,” Tyler shivers, Josh lingers to react. “I mean, _it_ wasn’t my Uncle anymore. I could feel the beast, I could smell it — I was scared, and I prayed, and prayed, and prayed, grabbing the cross while my Aunt was choking,” Tyler’s breath is caught up in his throat. “But then it just got worse, because Uncle John noticed me and pushed me out of their room, down the stairs, and he started howling and twitching; I kept praying, mentally, in Latin. I don’t remember how long had it been going, because I was about to pass out, I had a broken arm, and — then, I felt it wasn’t here anymore.”

Tyler’s story is messy, sentences jumbled, but he keeps up.

Josh listens to him, feeling his eyes sting.

“Uncle John drove me to the hospital. “Tyler is a clumsy kid,” he said. But I told the truth, I thought if I was raised in a religious family with my father as a pastor — I thought he would believe me. But he just told me to pray more and never lie to him again.”

“But your Aunt—”

“She didn’t want to ruin her family. That time wasn’t the first time when Uncle John was… abusing her.”

Tyler scratches the tip of his nose.

Everything is way too implausible.

“No offence, but Zack told me to never believe your words,” Josh gibbers.

“I know! That’s the rule!” Tyler sits cross-legged, with his fingers in his hair. “Don’t believe Tyler. They’re telling this to everyone. They’re telling it to me, too, it’s just— they’re hypocrites. Used to _fight demons_ though they’ve never met one.”

“And you?..”

“Yes. And _you_. You can see them. I can cast them out, but both of us can see the Dead Rabbit’s members.”

Josh doesn’t like these differences and similarities.

“We can do that because…” he hesitates. “Because we’ve had out near-death experiences?”

Tyler rewards Josh’s gumption with a nod.

“I slept with a boy when I was nineteen. Both of us claimed it was just an experiment. And it was. Except I tried to kill myself next evening — I swallowed rat poison, I thought that it could be more effective than my mother’s sleeping pills. I felt so dirty. I was right. That was the first time I died,” Tyler is just a narrator, not the main character. “Not for long though. And, after a while, the Rabbit visited me for the first time.”

The video keeps playing on the loop, with Josh holding a gun pointed at the tiny demon, with Mark writhing in pain, with the corpse. If this leaks on the YouTube, Josh might wake up famous.

“You look good in this uniform,” Tyler remarks, taking a screenshot. “Sad thing you’re not wearing it now.”

Josh has no clue how to take a sudden compliment — the flow of the story changes so dramatically he feels dumb.

Tyler is gay.

_Tyler is gay._

And Josh first had sex with a guy when he was twenty. Because his strict parents could only bear him dating girls.

“You don’t have to blame yourself for, you know, your sexual orientation,” Josh says thoughtfully.

Tyler places his palms on his knees. His black sweatpants don’t cover his bony ankles when he sits like this.

“I don’t. They’re doing it for me,” Tyler responds. “We need to find Ruby. Here’s a mighty demon inside of her. I can feel its presence even over the tape.”

Its face is the ugliest out of the ones Josh has seen.

“Why can’t it just leave her?”

“They’re taking energy from their vessels, and the kids are like, I think, they’re tasty for them,” Tyler replies timidly. “I’ve never exorcised it out of a child. And I’ve never met anyone who could see the demon. You’re so unique, Josh,” Tyler squeezes the life out of Josh’s hands. “We’re gonna do that together.”

And Tyler is clinging to him.

Here’s the ukulele lying abandoned on the shelf, on the pile of old books with yellowed pages.

“Gonna sing psalms using this?” Josh smirks a little. He doesn’t want to tease Tyler, he just doesn’t know what to do after all of the confessions.

He strangles another joke when he notices the tambourine under the chair.

“I just wanted to make music,” Tyler says.

Music is good. One day, Josh is going to buy a drumset.

“My friend owns electronic drums. I play them sometimes, and he says I could go really far with that.”

Josh wants to steal those drums because they’re so damn good and unaffordable.

“You can make it this far,” Tyler confirms.

It’s optimistic.

Josh hasn’t experienced cluster headaches since he got discharged from the hospital. He feels somewhat renewed. Tyler re-watches the murder scene for the hundredth time, and Josh has been feeling sick since afternoon, struggling to keep his insides down. He zones out while Tyler inspects the tape, scribbling something down his notebook.

He wants to forget about today, but —

“Josh? How did you die?”

Tyler is persistent.

“Overdosed on Verapamil by _accident_ ,” Josh emphasizes the last word.

He thinks it would be enough, but Tyler clearly wants to discuss.

“Man, that’s a killer!” Tyler perks up. “I still remember getting my stomach pumped though I was so out of it; I thought I lost my gag reflex that night. Though, I’d been throwing up a bloody slime for two days straight after that; I’d been thinking of euthanasia a lot, but he doctors didn’t share my enthusiasm.”

Josh pictures all of those and cringes.

“Stop it, please? I’ve already puked today,” he tastes it as he says it. “When I saw the corpse.”

“This happens, it’s okay,” Tyler nods sympathetically.

This doesn’t soothe the surges in Josh’s stomach.

“When are _we_ going to find Ruby?” he shuts the laptop.

“Tomorrow, I think. She needs to recover to maintain the demon, and the demon needs to hide for a while,” Tyler shrugs.

“And until then?”

They have no strategy, no any visible weapons to confront the cult — this damned tape from the shopping mall is the only anchor.

Josh wants to crawl into his shell.

Tyler’s eccentric personality takes over.

“I can blow your mind or I can blow you,” Tyler says matter-of-factly. He shifts on the bed, closing the gap between his and Josh’s thighs.

Josh’s heart palpitates.

“I hope that’s just a pun.”

“I hope you heard of no-strings-attached sex.”

Tyler isn’t this _flirty_ , so Josh still takes it as a banter.

“But we… we’re gonna work together,” Josh points out.  _To perform an exorcism together._

“Call it a workplace romance then,” Tyler fends off. “Or procrastination.”

“You’re kidding,” Josh narrows his eyes.

He has neglected all the glances Tyler has been throwing at him since their first meeting, he doesn’t want to take any responsibilities. Josh has never even thought about Tyler as about his sexual partner before, but he’s pretty sure he unwittingly begins to fantasize. There’s no murky fog around Tyler’s face, traits are legible — his brown eyes with long eyelashes, his lush lips with the blood caked in the corner, tiny dimples on his cheeks —

“I’m not kidding. You were so frustrated you couldn’t get that girl,” Tyler exhales compassionately. “I could suck you off that time, you know,” he says. He still smells like olibanum. This drives Josh blind. “You’re so tensed.”

Josh bats Tyler’s hands away when Tyler hitches up his belt.

“Are you seducing me?!”

“Maybe.”

“But the Dead Rabbit—”

“Is watching us.”

Josh hasn’t gotten laid for forever — _there’s no sex for a loser, no sex for a loser,_ and they’re two adult men, and —

“Is it one of your satanic things?”

“No, I swear, I’m— just let me do it,” Tyler’s breathing comes in soft gasps.

Tyler’s raw fingernails tickle the bare skin just above the waistband of Josh’s skinny jeans, and Josh can’t deny his curiosity; he places his hand on Tyler’s crotch, the bulge here is hot and solid. Tyler whines effusively and thrusts into Josh’s palm.

They’re going too fast.

“Tyler, you don’t have to—”

“But I need it.”

It’s definitely one of Tyler’s satanic things. And Josh is aroused, almost hating himself for giving in so quickly; but at least, Tyler’s face doesn’t cause another round of hallucinations. But still, Tyler isn’t _that_ pure, and this somehow makes Josh want his mouth, want to taste it, to lick the sores on his chapped lips. Maybe Tyler just deserves his pity.

“Fine. I’m gonna kiss you so fucking hard you’ll pass out,” Josh warns, bunching up the hood of Tyler’s sweatshirt.

 _‘Maybe sex will help us know each other better,’_ Josh thinks when the buckle of his belt hits the floor.  _But the man died and his life goes downhill —_

“Wait a second,” Tyler suddenly tugs at the collar of his sweatshirt, fishing out a golden cross necklace. Tyler takes it off, gently laying it onto the chair beside the bed. Josh hasn’t thought Tyler could have any prejudices.

“Why?” Josh mewls.

“It’s better this way.”

And they’re making out again, with Tyler’s palm skimming over Josh’s groin and with Josh blushing and grabbing for the ties of Tyler’s pants to loosen them. Tyler promptly swats Josh’s hands away and kisses him incontinently, deeply, with their teeth clanking at the contact. Josh drags the hem of Tyler’s sweatshirt upwards, perplexedly rubbing his sides and counting the bumps of Tyler’s protruding ribs, just skin and bones,  _skin and bones._ Tyler squirms in his embrace and snatches Josh’s wrists, forcing his hands to slide out from underneath his clothes.

“Please. Don’t,” Tyler begs, voice dripping with sadness.

Confusion shrouds Josh’s eyes.

“Sorry?”

Smitten, Josh begins to think they’re not going any further, but that’s when Tyler pushes him in the chest, shoving him back, propped with pillows; Tyler is practically riding him, wriggling his ass on Josh’s crotch and closing his eyes while he’s cupping his own cock through his sweatpants. Josh is mesmerized, and Tyler is towering above him again, kissing his lips, the leftover scab scratches the skin here; Josh bucks his hips, grinding his clothed cock against Tyler’s and holding him by his thighs.

This suddenly feels right.

Tyler’s thumb pokes at Josh’s jawline.

“I’m gonna blow you.”  

“Yes,” Josh nods submissively. “Yes.”

Josh rumples the bedsheets not to grip at the tuft of Tyler’s hair while he’s lowering his head, unzipping Josh’s jeans and rolling them down his legs along with his boxers. His shamelessly exposed cock feels cold for a second, and Josh is grateful he’s already lying — Tyler’s hand is right between his thighs, moving up and down the strained up length, intuitively teasing the most sensitive spot.

“I don’t even remember the last time I was doing this,” Tyler says, giving Josh’s erect cock another jerk.

Josh doesn’t even remember the last time he was getting a blowjob.

“I’ll return the favor,” Josh promises.

His abdominal muscles begin to clench when Tyler just starts with the swirls of his tongue over the head, licking up the slit and tightening the grip at the base of Josh’s cock. And Josh groans, trying to choke back the noise, but just the sight of Tyler’s swollen lips stretched around his cock sends the fire through his nerve endings. Tyler creates the rhythm, stroking and sucking at the same time, bobbing his head and hunching his back as the tip of Josh’s cock brushes over the back of his throat, making him gag.

Tyler scrambles away, wiping his chin on his sleeve and coughing.

“Sorry,” Josh apologizes timidly.

“That’s okay,” Tyler croaks out.

And his face is at Josh’s groin level, and Josh presses his ass into the mattress not to thrust into Tyler’s mouth as he takes him whole, kneeling between Josh’s splayed legs, with Josh’s pants still hanging low around his ankles. Tyler’s fingers leave bruises on Josh’s hipbones and Josh peers through the mist, rocking his hips once again and barely curbing the nearing orgasm. Tyler hums and moans into Josh’s pubic hair, gingerly caressing his balls, but the second Josh reaches the point of climaxing, Tyler gets distracted again.

“ _God_ , Ty, you’re _evil_ ,” Josh lets the pet name slip off his tongue.

“Don’t speak too soon,” Tyler pulls away from Josh’s flushed cock, pressing it to Josh’s lower stomach with the mixture of precome and Tyler’s saliva smeared all over it.

It throbs and aches with the beating of Josh’s heart.

“It’s not healthy—” he never finishes because Tyler licks his lips and takes Josh’s cock down his throat all at once, not retching this time.

Josh is all giddy when Tyler _lets_ him come into his mouth, not flinching though Josh doesn’t bother himself with warning him, his tongue doesn’t work, unlike Tyler’s. The wet warmth spills out of his abdomen, shooting into Tyler’s glossy lips, now stained with the sheen of Josh’s come. It’s so all of the sudden it hurts, it hurts because Tyler instinctively clenches his teeth around Josh’s flesh, not biting or scraping it yet, but the tension is tangible enough for Josh to make him whimper.

While he lies here, unable to muster a banal  _thanks_ , Tyler spits the whitish fluid out into his palm, wiping it on the wooden headboard.

“Gross,” Josh only comments.

“Sorry, I don’t swallow,” Tyler says hoarsely.

On autopilot, Josh sits up and yanks his jeans back up before patting Tyler knee. He’s holding his right hand tucked between his thighs, breathing irregularly and curling his fingers over the outlines of his hard cock.

Josh perceives it as a wordless plea.

“What do you want me to do?” Josh asks. “A handjob? Blowjob? Any ideas?”

“No, nothing,” Tyler shakes his head.

“What? I can’t just use your mouth without giving anything in return,” Josh rests his hand on top of Tyler’s, feeling his popped up veins and a little damp fabric of his pants.

“Don’t do anything, t’s fine,” Tyler bristles.

“You’re leaking.”

“I _know_.”

Tyler snatches the cross necklace and clutches it in his hand, getting up.

“Where are you going?!” Josh jumps up on the mattress, dragged out of his bliss.

“To the bathroom,” Tyler says. He doesn’t even turn around when he leaves.

Josh feels dejected, suspecting that Tyler prefers to jerk off rather than allow Josh to do that for him, but he can’t insist.

_Call it a workplace romance._

This doesn’t even resemble a happy-ending.

Josh curses himself when he follows Tyler to the bathroom door and pricks up his ears, expecting to hear the moans of pleasure but he only hears the muffled sobbing instead.

_Dammit._

“Tyler? Ty?” he’s knocking. “Have I done something wrong? Is it because of… because of the blowjob?”

Tyler sniffs loudly; Josh understands he’s leaning his back on the door.

“No.”

Another sniffle.

What if he’s just crying while masturbating? Gosh, then Josh is making a fool out of himself.

“What’s then?”

“Josh,” Tyler sputters out. “I sucked you off because I wanted it, okay? You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Josh turns the doorknob. It’s locked from the inside.

“Are you sure you’re okay in here?”

“Absolutely.”

A hiccup, a sniff, and then the running water — Josh listens to it, deciding to stay beside the bathroom in case Tyler falls into a sopor here.

This is the most offbeat sleepover he’s ever had.

 

***

Josh is tired of only getting nightmares. He doesn’t ask for unicorns and rainbows, but the woman plunging her face into the saucepan with boiling water pushes Josh off his limits. Here are the blood-curdling screams, and her hair form a wet cobweb all over the bubbling surface, and her cheeks and forehead are red, blotchy and blistered as she emerges; her face gradually turns to the face of a possessed person and then to Tyler’s — his eyes are red.

And Josh can’t wake up, watching Tyler with his skin plastering off his skull, with the blood cascading down his jaws, down his neck, down —

“Don’t touch me!”

He yells before he opens his eyes.

“I thought you wanted—”

That’s awkward.

Josh is chronically terrified, and now he’s scared the daylights out of Tyler, too. The pillow has made Josh’s brain malleable, but this uncomfortable couch has given him a scoliosis. After what happened, he couldn’t share the bed with Tyler. Josh’s cock still aches a little, at the spot where Tyler’s teeth were digging in, but that’s a good kind of pain. He still feels uneasy about the last evening — and about Tyler’s sexual abstinence thing — but it’s personal.

Their common trouble is, in fact, the demon and the Dead Rabbit cult.  

“Sorry,” Josh sits up, massaging his biceps. “I had a bad dream.”

Tyler ignores it.

“They’re boarding up for the flight to Nashville,” Tyler informs him, _not touching_ his hair anymore.

“Who?” Josh rubs his forehead.  

“Rixton family. We’ve miscounted the amount of their relatives — and I found Louisa Rixton’s Facebook page — she posted a note that she and Ruby are going to spend some time with Louisa’s parents in Nashville, Tennessee.”

This is what Josh gets instead of a morning coffee.

“And you want us to sit on their tail?”

He still can’t get back to their current issue, it’s so surreal.

“Unfortunately, the speed is not an advantage. The demon might just feel us and fall into hibernation. But if we use my car and don’t rush things — in a good kind of way we’ll get a chance to exorcise it today,” Tyler says excitedly.

Though, his eyes are bloodshot as if he either hasn’t slept or has been crying all night. Josh feels bad for just passing out like that.

“You still want me to go with you?” Josh asks cautiously.

He hopes to hear a ‘no’.

Tyler nods.

“Yes.”

And Josh’s anxiety blocks his lungs like a dense foam.

“But what if we’re gonna be late? What if Ruby ruins the engines and causes a plane crash?!”

Talking to Tyler is like talking to the wall sometimes.

Tyler storms out of the room, spitting out just —

“I’m gonna go grab the supplies.”

 

***

 **Mom:** _Why didn’t you call?! We heard about what happened, Joshua, we’re so worried! Where are you?_

 **Ash:** _And you keep saying your job is boring. I don’t think so. I’m paranoid, haha. Call me before our Mom eats my brain out_

 **Jordan:** _get well, j. I’m hella hangover so I can feel your p-a-i-n :(_

 **Abby:** _why didn’t u c call???_

 **Dad:** _We’re planning a dinner next Sunday, after the church. Are you joining us?_

 **Mark E-man:** _andy said you called in sick. Hope you’re gonna feel better tomorrow because this fucking jOB IS NOW SCARING THE SHIT OUT OF ME_

“The squad is here,” Tyler smirks, looking over Josh’s shoulder. “And, out of these people, who’s your girlfriend? That _Mom_ contact? Or _Dad?”_

It’s been two hours of their tiresome journey to Nashville, and the desire of punching Tyler returns in full splendor. Or maybe Josh wants to fuck him down the mattress in the back of Tyler’s truck — it doesn’t even resemble a decent bed, but he has to enjoy what he can afford.

“Well, tell me? Who is she?” Tyler is annoying, and the car radio isn’t working properly. Josh tries to turn it on, but he swears he catches the EVP radio wave. White noise with the vague words.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Josh turns to the window to cool his face. “You?”

He didn’t see a glimpse of a possible girlfriend at Tyler’s house last night. No cute pics, no cozy hand-made cushions — just a typical bachelor’s den.

Tyler watches the landscape swimming through the windshield.

“I was supposed to get married once I turned twenty-one.”

His statement requires some ‘but’, so Josh gives him it.

“But?..”

“She died,” Tyler clicks his tongue. Josh wants to bite off his own tongue and never be able to speak again. “They dressed her in a wedding gown before laying her into a coffin. Funeral was such a beautiful ceremony.”

Tyler looks devastated.

“I’m so, so, sorry,” Josh swallows through the swarf in his throat.

The embarrassment only grows as Tyler’s tale goes.

“Don’t be sorry, Josh, don’t be. It’s been five years now, so, I don’t know — when the police found her body in that abandoned place, I didn’t cry. Everyone said I was heartless, some of them thought I killed _her_ — but then my Dad came up with the brilliant idea of revealing my alleged _disorder_ on public,” Tyler scowls at the rearview mirror. “That’s how I spent a year and eight months in Twin Valley Behavioral Healthcare Hospital. It’s not fair, you know — the places like this are supposed to make you feel better, but instead it just twists your brain inside out — you are insane, get it, live with it, eat your pills instead of food. They’re not giving you any hope, they’re only bullying you, like _‘Mr. Joseph, have you seen any ghosts today? Have you sucked any dicks?’_ and then they just ask God for forgiveness,” Tyler punches the steering wheel, earning a honk.

He joins the line of cars on the highway, and Josh thinks that the silence was much better than the story of Tyler’s life. 

_Live with it._

“I think… I think my family would most likely lock me up in a mental institution if I told them about my visions,” Josh utters sheepishly.

Tyler is petrified.

“And, let me guess — they live with God in their hearts?”

Josh nods.

“It’s a one-way faith. When you accept that _somebody else_  can be a prophet or can be possessed, but when it pours over your family, you become a realist,” he guesses.

“Same,” Tyler admits. “The male nurses could just beat me up in a hospital and then tell to my family that I was banging my head against the wall. And my Dad was like ‘yes, Tyler can do that, he harms himself way too much’. He’s sure he knows me,” Tyler chokes back a sniffle. “You’re sure I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not crazy, not crazy, I am not—”

“I believe you,” Josh tries not to let Tyler start hyperventilating.

“Really?”

“Would I be sitting in this car if—”

“Right,” Tyler puffs out a sigh. “Both of us are crazy.”

“It’s a thing,” Josh says.

Tyler checks the coordinates once again, focusing on the route — they get stuck in traffic because of the roadworks, but Josh uses this time to prepare himself for the encounter with the paranormal activity. He almost wishes it could happen only in his and Tyler’s sick heads.

After two hours of not saying a word, they’re finally passing by that Welcome to Nashville sign, then stopping to get some gas. Josh reads the map in his GPS while Tyler is paying for the gas and food, acting as if they’re not about to get _killed_ by a little girl.

Yes, Josh is a pessimist.

Tyler is the most adequate psycho.

Even though he’s wearing a white button-up shirt under his black hoodie. Josh thinks he could find something better than this ugly brown sweatshirt that doesn’t match Tyler clothes. He has no doubts he’s going to be the shittiest assistant in history.

“They live in suburbs, near the farms,” Tyler says under his breath. “You know, I don’t like suburbs. All the crap always happens there.”

Josh only cackles at this. So ironic.

“And now we’re about to cast out the demon.”

“Right.”

Tyler is driving for an hour and half, and it gets darker within this time. Josh wants to say it’s his turn to drive, but they’re already crossing the road that leads to the farms.

“Are we close?” Josh nervously looks around.

Tyler nods wordlessly.

“And how many times have you done this before?”

“Enough to become a pro, but not enough to stop being a coward,” Tyler responds, reluctant.

“You haven’t even told me what to do,” Josh feels aggrieved. “I don’t even remember how to pray.”

“It won’t work anyway,” Tyler says, stopping the car beside the rickety barns.

“What?!”

“We’ll improvise,” Tyler adjusts the collar of his shirt. “Let’s get out of the car.”

Josh slams the door shut, shifting from one foot to another while Tyler drags the red backpack out of the backseat.

Josh is sure that Rixton family is going to throw a tantrum and call the police. They go towards the well-maintained, stereotypical American dream house; Josh hopes that Tyler knows where it leads to, even though he’s doing a literal nothing, just knocking down the glass door.

God, Josh doesn’t even know what is in Tyler’s backpack.

“Why don’t you warn me? Like, keep calm and stuff” Josh mumbles.

“You’ll run away if I say anything,” Tyler deadpans. “Just. Don’t tell them our real names. Don’t talk to Ruby no matter what. It’s the best advice I can give.”

_Oh, how kind of him._

Tyler knocks, no, _bangs_ once again. And it brings some result this time.

“Hello?”

Here’s the woman, the one Josh has only seen lying in the bathtub unconscious — she still looks frazzled, with messy blonde hair, with the stitched up eyebrow.

“Hello,” Tyler says with the wave of his hand. “Louisa? Can we, um, can we see your daughter?”

The woman crosses her arms over her chest.

“You two don’t look like journalists.”

“Because we aren’t,” Josh glances at Tyler.

Louisa gnaws at the strand of her hair.

“Mister Misty-Eyed,” she drawls. “A man with a blurry face, a _legend_. My old neighbors told me about him, about— about you. You come to people’s houses to expel demons,” her lips twitch in a smile. “I thought God abandoned us, but now I think He sent you.”

That’s the point where Josh begins to truly believe Tyler’s ravings.

“I would use a pepper spray right now if I hadn’t seen those horrible things with my own eyes,” Louisa lets out a guttural chuckle. “It’s not my daughter.”

“It’s her, just being manipulated by evil forces,” Tyler argues, stepping into the hallway then beckoning Josh.

Louisa doesn’t hinder them to go inside.

“She spilled holy water into the toilet.”

“I think I can handle her behavior.”

Louisa steps carefully, watching left and right and peeking her head out of the doorframe as she leads them to the living room.

“Who’s your assistant today?” she asks.

Josh is a third wheel in this scene.

“It’s Message Man,” Tyler simply says. “Don’t mess with him.”

What a random nickname — Josh would like to talk to both of them, but something falls upstairs — something smashes to pieces, and the insistent yelp ‘Mommy!’ makes Josh’s hair stand on end.

He didn’t think they would dive into _the case_ instantly.

“ _Ruby_ is in her room, be careful,” Louisa pales as she utters her daughter’s name.

“Don’t worry about us, worry about yourself,” Tyler exhales hastily, grabbing his backpack and sprinting to the stairs. “No, no, you’re staying here,” he points at Louisa. “Message Man, I _need_ your help.”

Josh thinks he’s sinned enough, and that’s why he can’t do a job for the name of God —

Tyler doesn’t let him dwell on things.

“Hurry up, it knows that we’re here,” Tyler screams as they jump over the two steps at a time.

“MOMMY!” a low, distorted voice bellows.

“Mommy’s here,” Tyler spits, hitting the door with his shoulder but it’s barricaded from the inside.

“Get away,” Josh commands before stepping backwards to get more space. He then makes a dash forward, kicking the door with the sole of his sneaker right above the handle.

It caves.

It’s a gaping hole, and Tyler yanks Josh backwards so he doesn’t get hit in his head with a green children’s chair. He should’ve known, he can’t be this stupid. And Tyler is rummaging in his backpack, taking out the church candle and lightening it with the Zippo; Ruby’s room groans and roars and moans, and there is no way to get _prepared_ for the exorcism.

“Never look them in the eye so they won’t know it’s you. Don’t worry. Let’s go,” Tyler whispers, pulling the wooden cross out of the backpack. Josh holds the candle between his fingertips, the wax drips down it, and Josh bashfully hides behind Tyler — he just lets the professional be the professional.

The flame jerks.

“Pull another when it goes out,” Tyler instructs him.

With this, they enter the room.

In fact, they enter the Hell.

“Where is my Mommy?” the girl faces the window, and Josh is grateful that he doesn’t have to see her face right now.

But maybe she has one on the back of her head.

“You’re not my Mommy,” Ruby states.

She’s pushing them into having a conversation, but Josh doesn’t part his lips.

Tyler clears his throat.

“As smoke is driven away, so are they driven; as wax melts before the fire, so the wicked perish at the… at the presence of God,” Tyler begins, revealing the cross in his hands to the vulture.

An owl-shaped lamp smacks into the wall.

The candle bends between Josh’s fingers, dropping the bead of hot wax onto the back of Josh’s hand, but it’s the only protection he can get now.

The window frame scrunches.

The orange and yellow flare on the end of the candle lets out a crackle.

_Cleanse them with fire._

“We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all satanic powers, all infernal invaders,” Tyler chants, clutching the cross in front of his chest.

Ruby raises her hands up, curling her fingers into fists; the window in front of her breaks, it splits to million pieces as she shrieks.

“Do you know what happened to my Daddy?”

This strikes Josh down.

“Don’t listen to her,” Tyler sputters. “May you be… be snatched away and driven, from the _Church of God_ and from… the souls made to the image and likeness of God!”

Ruby blares and revolves, making both Josh and Tyler bounce away — Josh closes his eyes, unable to look at the face of Evil — here are two rows of sharpened teeth in its wounded mouth, it has just bloody sockets with the black and red coals deep inside, with the blue-grey color of its skin.

“Fuck,” Josh exhales.

The lack of its soul is so conspicuous this just can’t be real; only the prayer is their armor now.

“Thus, cursed d-dragon, and you, diabolical legions, we adjure you by the living God,” Tyler reads monotonously. “By the true God, by the _holy_ God,” his bitten nails bleed as he squeezes the cross, _feeding_ it.

And there are the words, floating in Josh’s brain like the fallen leaves in the lake, and suddenly, he knows what to say next —

“Stop— stop beneath the all-powerful Hand of God; tremble and flee when we invoke the Holy and terrible Name of Jesus!” Josh makes the cross sign with the candle in the air, it’s burning profusely so he shoves his hand into the open backpack slinging over Tyler’s shoulder.

He struggles to keep a cool head, _but Ruby is just a little kid and no one knows if she’s able to survive —_

“This Name which… which causes Hell to tremble, this Name to which the Virtues, Powers and Dominations of heaven are humbly submissive,” Tyler continues, mirroring Josh’s movement.

Ruby isn’t moving off her spot but this doesn’t stop the deafening mayhem in her room — all the books, stuffed animals and furniture are taking off their places, transforming to the whirlwind around the two exorcists. The girl throws her ugly head back and her jaw dislocates itself due to the force of screaming.

“Daddy didn’t want to play with me!” Ruby screeches. A monster with Ruby’s name screeches. “So I blocked the doors in his car and didn’t open them until my Daddy stopped breathing!”

The creature mocks them, it’s all in its intonation. But Josh is sure he dies the second he hears these words.

“Is she bluffing?” Josh covers his eyes with the crook of his elbow.

“I can’t understand,” Tyler gasps. “Lou— her mother is a widow.”

_Never call the real names._

Ruby outstretches her hand, the invisible battering ram hits Josh’s solar plexus, sweeping him off his feet; he flies and falls, leaving the dent below the family photo on the wall.

“That’s because you wanted to shot me.”

Ruby’s hand is still bandaged after she had cut herself. A single gunshot wound could just knock the soul out of her.

“You don’t want to play. Do you want to end up like my Daddy?” she tilts her head, her neck grows longer and thinner; here are the bursts of the cold air, as if the room begins to exhale the curse.

Josh manages to put his aching bones together and get up, to stand beside Tyler again; he’s in some kind of a trance, completely unaware of what’s happening to Josh.

“Holy, Holy, _Holy_ is the L-lord, the God of… of Armies,” Tyler wheezes stubbornly.

Josh calls for his excellent assistant skills he never knew he had.

“O Lord, hear my prayer,” they say in unison.

Josh feels like his innards have been rearranged as he faces the demon, it’s like the sandpaper scraping over his eyes, over his skin.

“You can’t fight me,” the Evil gurgles.

Josh’s brain is just a lump of a rancid meat.

“It’s giving up,” Tyler says shortly. “I can’t see it, but I feel its fatigue,” he quickly crosses the room while Josh grabs for the third candle. “O Lord, to grant us Thy powerful protection and to… to keep… us safe and sound, We beseech Thee through Jesus Christ Our Lord,” he catches his breath again. “Amen!”

Ruby falls on all four, ripping her pajamas with the Teddy-bear print.

Josh wants to weep from the intense pain in his head, it attacks so suddenly, a knife in his eyes, even worse than the knife — a bullet, an arrow, thousand degrees hot.

“From the snares of the devil, deliver us, O Lord,” Josh slurs.

This whole room is a snare, this whole house.

“Message Man!” Tyler hollers, his forefinger is pointed at something behind Josh.

Josh ducks under the arm that tries to snatch his throat, he sees a glimmer of a Rabbit Mask on his left.  _And here came the puppeteer._

“Váde sátana, invéntor et magíster ómnis falláciae, hóstis humánae salútis,” Tyler is casting the spell in Latin. “Da lócum Chrísto, in quo níhil invenísti de opéribus tuis,” he recites. This stops the Rabbit Mask just a little — he wades through the dome of charms, inexorably approaching Tyler.

Ruby is rolling around the carpet, clutching her head and howling like a wolf, and Tyler is backed to the wall by the Rabbit Mask with his hand in a white glove on Tyler’s head. 

Tyler looks woozy.

“From the snares of the devil, deliver us, O Lord,” he repeats. Tyler’s eyes turn bloody-red as he takes the tiny vial out of his kangaroo pocket and splashes it straight onto the Rabbit Mask. It splatters onto his suit, and he fumes and stumbles backwards with a sizzle. Here’s the crimson fire in Tyler’s irises, just like in one of Josh’s dreams — _he might be one of them_ — Josh is sure the redness consumes every other color now.

Josh’s knees smash against the floor.

Ruby cries like a newborn.

“From the… snares of the devil… deliver us, O Lord,” Tyler is missing the lines, battling the pressure, and Josh is still clasping the candle with his weakening fingers. The flame is still here, pumping and fluctuating, and Josh can’t move.

_But what if Tyler is one of them —_

“From the snares of the devil, deliver us, O Lord,” Josh spits out.

Ruby goes silent.

When Josh blinks to re-focus and get his swimming vision back, Rabbit Mask is heading to the window and jumping off the windowsill, disappearing in the night air. And Tyler is slumped beside the wall, just like one of Ruby’s broken dolls. There’s something about his face, something as if he has no face in general; Josh can’t tell what he exactly sees through the nebula that surrounds Tyler’s head. But one thing is clear — if Josh didn’t know what Tyler looked like, he would’ve never been able to bring it back to his memory.

“Misty-Eyed?” Josh scrambles to sit up, blowing at the candle.

Tyler doesn’t stir.

“Mommy!” Ruby’s voice pierces through Josh’s ears.  

All he sees though, is just a scared girl with big green eyes and with the blood-soaked bandages.

“I’m here, dear, I’m here,” Louisa storms into the trashed room, jumping over Josh’s legs and cradling her daughter into her arms.

“The demon is not here anymore,” Josh croaks out. “Misty-Eyed passed out.”

He crawls towards Tyler, pressing his fingers to his carotid artery.

“Do you need ambulance?” Louisa asks, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Josh shakes his head. “He’s breathing.”

Josh sighs and puts the burnt candles and the wooden cross back into Tyler’s backpack, throwing the strap over his own shoulder. He just wants to get away from here, but he isn’t sure how far he can make it with an unconscious exorcist in his arms. Josh doesn’t know if this has been happening to Tyler before — but he guesses he has to be a good assistant and take him out as well. He puts the vial for holy water back into Tyler’s pocket and tries to pick him up, with his hand over Tyler’s shoulders and with the other hand under his knees.

“You can take him to the motel a few miles away, down the highway,” Louisa says, standing up with a groggy Ruby clinging to her. “Thank you so much.”

She holds the money in her hand, crumpled bills that she tries to give to Josh.

“No, don’t,” he protests, but Louisa shoves them into Tyler’s pocket. “We shouldn’t take the money.”

“Just to pay for the motel,” Louisa says softly.

Josh acquiesces.

“Mommy, can we go to sleep?” Ruby sniffles, hugging her mother tighter.

“Yes, kitten, yes,” Louisa chimes at her.

Josh’s arms begin to feel numb under Tyler’s weight; he’s just skin and bones, but his bones are heavy. Or maybe his soul is heavy; it definitely weighs more than twenty one grams.*

Josh shakes him a little.

Tyler isn’t waking up.

“I think he needs some fresh air,” Josh blinks through the second onslaught of headache. He probably needs some fresh air too.

Tyler’s hand is trembling as Josh hauls him downstairs.

Josh’s whole essence is worn out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * here's the thing about people losing twenty one grams after their death, which leads to the theory that it's the weight of humans' soul.  
> \---  
> i did a research /again/  
> i didn't want to use that latin spell, but it turned out to be the most effective; the english spell is just an exorcism prayer.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time they arrive to the nearest (cheapest, funkiest) roadside motel, Tyler’s nose begins to bleed. A steady flow runs down his lips, then zigzagging to his cheek.

“Oh crap.”

Josh is definitely not good with blood, he only hopes it’s gonna stop by itself.

Josh pays for the room with his card, then returning to the car and scooping Tyler up into his arms, mentally cursing these heavy doors as he enters the shabby building again. The receptionist with the nametag _Brendon_ goggles at them as Josh tries to make it upstairs with Tyler’s unzipped backpack and with Tyler who can’t coordinate himself.

Josh misses the keyhole four times.

The receptionist keeps watching him.

“What?” Josh barks, sticking the key into the lock.

He almost drops Tyler, tripping over the threshold.

“He’s been doing lines of coke or what?”

“He’s fine,” Josh snarls. Tyler’s head is thrown back, the blood runs back into his red-rimmed nostrils. Josh tries to prop Tyler’s head against his shoulder not to make him sick in addition to his current sufferings.

“Okay, okay, I hope _everything_ between you two is gonna be consensual,” _Brendon_ sneers.

Josh stumbles into the room without giving him an answer.

He wants to fall asleep so bad he needs two matches to keep his eyes open. Tyler is snoring almost inaudibly, his unconsciousness turns to just a deep sleep; it sends the sense of relief through Josh’s veins. Getting his wind back, Josh manhandles Tyler to the single bed in the room. _A single bed_. Wonderful.

“That’s what the workplace romance is,” Josh grumbles as he lays Tyler down and deliberates if he should undress him to make him less uncomfortable.

Then, he decides against.

He just brings a roll of toilet paper and wipes the scarlet trails underneath Tyler’s nose, some of the color still gets stuck in his pores. No response — Josh hopes that Tyler hasn’t fallen into a coma. Josh takes Tyler’s slack hand in his, lifting it a little and letting it smack against the bedsheets. Nothing.

“I don’t want to sleep on the floor,” Josh says apologetically, taking his sneakers off and plopping down on top of the blankets.

Tyler doesn’t answer.

“That’s okay,” Josh assures him.

The ceiling is as black as Josh’s thoughts, Tyler is as warm as a hot water bottle, sweating through the layers of his clothing. Maybe it’s just a fever.

Josh takes one Verapamil before letting his mind slip away.

He’s dreaming of putrefying bodies underneath the gravestones, of the worms that find their home in between their hollow bones, of the fire — the bones are burning and glowing, and Josh has never thought that something dead could be so _bright_.

He wants to wake up, but he’s not allowed to.

His brain itches — Josh isn’t even sure if it still bothers him, he’s chained and blindfolded, and the long tongue of the fire licks at his chest, making his skin crackle and split.

Josh only opens his eyes when the sunrays begin to spray through the dirty windows. Beside him, a very misled Tyler tries to sit up, not quite succeeding in that.

“Morning,” Josh greets him quietly. “You expelled the demon.”

“ _We_ did it,” Tyler says huskily.

Josh still can’t comprehend the way those words of a prayer arose in his head. It was like a mental channel.

Tyler’s legs aren’t holding him, and he slouches back onto the mattress with a groan. He slides down the sagged bed, almost missing the edge, but somehow not falling on the floor. Tyler looks like his mind hasn’t come back to his body as he blinks hard before stubbornly trying to stand up again.

Josh stops him before he collapses.

“Hey, man, easy—”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

Tyler rubs his face while Josh wings his hand over Tyler’s shoulders — even the little pressure makes him sway.

“Do you need something?”

“Water,” Tyler rasps.

“I’ll bring you some,” Josh nods, heading to the kitchen and filling the glass with the cold water straight from the tap. It’s relatively clean.

Tyler takes it gratefully, downing the whole amount in one go. The glass almost slips through his fingers when he finishes, so Josh takes it not to let it get shattered.

“Thanks for not drawing a penis on my forehead,” Tyler slurs.

Josh chuckles as some of the tension goes away.

“I wanted to, honestly, but you looked cute without it.”

That’s what friends do.

Tyler gives him a small smile — just enough for a tiny dimple to appear on his cheek. Sometimes, the reality can be not as bad as Josh’s nightmares. Tyler eyes him, awaiting.

“And that’s why we slept in one bed?” 

“Yeah… Wait, what?!” Josh is suddenly stumped.

“Not a bad way to wake up,” Tyler shrugs. “Much better than waking up to a sixty-years-old farmer pulling your pants down.”

Josh feels the need to defend himself.

“I didn’t try to get into your pants.”

“Cool. But maybe I wouldn’t mind if you did, who knows?”

Tyler scratches the top of his head, where the Rabbit Mask’s hand was, and the pain in Josh’s ribs is a reminder that the last night didn’t let him go without any consequences. He’s utterly terrified that the headaches might just get back, and what if he won’t be able to get a clinch on it again, and what if —

“Your eyes were red,” Josh says.

Josh still has a list of questions to ask. And of course, they jump out of his mouth in the most inappropriate moment.

“Your _eyes_ , Tyler. Why was that?”

Josh observes him, but Tyler remains silent.

“That’s how your death changed you?” Josh’s fingers hook the collar of Tyler’s shirt. “Answer me!” Josh snaps, shaking him as if he wasn’t pretending to be a protective boyfriend just five minutes ago. “Answ—”

Tyler swallows spasmodically.

Josh’s thumb covers the red shapeless spot on the white fabric, and Josh’s voice wavers.

“Damn. Sorry.”

He notes that some of the blood got onto the pillow.

“I can absorb them,” Tyler says.

“You can _what_?”

“I think I…” Tyler scrubs at the rusty-red skin under his nose. “I’m locking them inside my mind? The ones I expel,” he adds. “I don’t know. I’m gonna burst one day.”

Josh’s heart is gonna burst one day.

The image of Tyler’s eyes reminds him of the headlights shimmering through the fog above the road.

“I’m just a filter, Josh,” Tyler explains. “They all go right through me before heading back to Hell. I discovered this thing after my second suicide attempt — soon after my fiancé’s death; I tried to hang myself, because I thought I was smarter that time. But my family turned out to be pretty smart too,” he presses his palm down his Adam’s apple. “So, it was pretty easy to get me back. But _I swear_ I could hear the sinners’ gnashing teeth.”

Each sentence hits Josh like a whip.

“But… Those demons… They’re not living there afterwards?”

Tyler shrugs again.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I used to be a schizophrenic with the voices in my head.”

This statement impresses Josh more than his own paranormal abilities.

“You hear the voices?!”

“No,” Tyler shakes his head. “And I’ve never heard them, to be honest. But my Mom thought I had to, she thought I was saying _things_ because the voices were forcing me to.”

This is too much.

Josh opens his mouth but then closes it again like a dying fish.       

“I’m sorry, sometimes I’m talking to myself— it wasn’t always like this, but I started once I got discharged from Twin Valley,” Tyler nervously plays with the laces on his hoodie. “You know, you feel like you’re underwater when you get your head smashed against the concrete floor repeatedly. As if that could help me keep my pills down.”

And Josh perceives it as the one of the nightmares from Tyler’s past.

“Tyler—”

Josh’s words don’t reach Tyler’s ears.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Tyler cries out. “It wasn’t my fault that my parents wanted to help me and called that psychiatrist; they told him my secret I shared with them! But I wasn’t sick, I just wanted to find someone I could trust!”

It’s like a solid kick in the gut.

“Tyler, stop—”

Tyler’s lips are wobbling, breath hitched.

“In Twin Valley, I just wanted to die when that male nurse wanted to get my _innocent ass_.”

Another kick. Josh isn’t sure if he’s able to bear it.

“Please—”

“He didn’t go _that_ far,” Tyler spits. “I was struggling, and he punched me; I started choking on my own vomit and wasn’t looking pretty anymore. Just got knocked out a second later. I’d sue him, but unfortunately, I’m mentally ill and my testimony means nothing. I’m mentally ill,” he sighs humbly. Though, here’s still something sarcastic in this.

 _‘You’re scaring me,’_ Josh wants to say.

“That’s just… awful,” Josh manages.

“I’m sorry about spilling this,” Tyler heaves out. “My Dad always tells me that I’m just being tested by God, and I have to be grateful, but I don’t understand— why would God want me to get raped?”

Tyler is bemused and so is Josh. Josh wraps his arms around Tyler’s torso before he comprehends it — he’s never seen anyone so broken before. He’s never seen anyone so strong before.

Tyler is still scaring him.

“Sometimes I think that it’s the Devil who sends us those tests,” Josh utters.

“You’re reading my minds,” sniffling, Tyler wipes a little pink snot. “You don’t slap me when I say things on the brink of blasphemy.”

Tyler says horrifying things.

Josh will never be able to forget the corpse, his visions, _Ruby._

“I will never hurt you,” Josh promises. It’s dumb, but he has to.

“Thank you,” Tyler hums, then adds — “I wanna be in Slowtown.”

Josh doesn’t know what that means.

Tyler is surprised and confused when he finds the money in his pocket. And, when Josh is about to say the words of condolence, Tyler excuses himself to go and use the bathroom.

Leaving the things unexplained is his style.

 

***

An hour later, they’re on their way back to Columbus, eating junk food over the course of the ride and chatting. Josh is determined not to let Tyler drive this time; Josh _wants_ to talk about what happened in Rixton’s house, about what happened later in the motel — Tyler declines, chewing on his taco. Crumbs scatter everywhere.

“I’m feeling better when I’m getting it out of my head,” he says. “But not like… in the form of words.”

It’s funny — in the motel Tyler’s words were flowing like a river. Tyler acts like a little kid sometimes. And maybe, just maybe, Josh is a little envious.

“Take your time, Ty.”

Both of them need the entire forever to recover.

Hours pass in the dusty air; they’re in the middle of the road which is empty of any cars, and anxiety tingles Josh’s chest again — he thinks they’re about to go astray, so he’s just going to re-check the map even though Tyler doesn’t seem concerned. Tyler just keeps drinking his RedBull. It’s almost aesthetic. It’s also distracting because he’s slurping too _loud_.

Josh wishes he had earplugs.

“I told you so many things. Can we consider our relationship as established now?” Tyler wonders as Josh gives up and pulls over.

“Maybe,” Josh laughs at the joke.

He can’t find that damn map in the glove box.

“Really, thanks for not chickening out. I appreciate it,” Tyler squeezes Josh’s thigh. “Well. Let’s maybe… Prove that?”

“Prove what?”

“That we’re not lying.”

Tyler’s eyes look strange. And Tyler’s moves are suggestive enough for Josh to squirm and resent —

“We’re not— Ty, stop doing that!” Josh practically thumps him.

Tyler grips at Josh’s belt just like before.

“I’m not doing anything.”

Josh suspects that Tyler tucked the map into the hole in upholstery just to make Josh stop the car here.

“Tyler,” Josh starts. “I got it, but… I don’t want to have sex in the backseat.”

“Why?”

“Because you make me feel right in the _wrong_ kind of way.”

Tyler’s frequent mental breakdowns make Josh feel wrong as well.

“So you don’t deny you want me?” Tyler’s palm crawls higher, cupping Josh’s crotch. Josh sighs. “You want me.”

Tyler sounds genuinely happy.

Josh still thinks they have to wait for more suitable moment, to find a place better than this rattletrap. They might get caught by the lone drivers or find themselves on Google maps later, oh, maps, _the map_ —

Tyler’s nose bumps against Josh’s jawline as Tyler attempts to suck the skin here.

“We can stop if we don’t like it.”

And Josh likes it.

Tyler’s lips are littered with the tiny cracks.

“When you got those bruises…” Josh starts. Tyler still has shadows on his face. “What happened?”

This _I-care-about-you_ concept is so obvious that Tyler rolls his eyes.

“I fell off the balcony — but don’t worry, it wasn’t that high. Exorcism gone wrong, and the possessed dude kinda sorta jostled me real hard. The worst part was, though, that I had to get my ass back into the house and finish the ritual.”

Josh pictures it like an action movie, Josh _cares_.

“You’re so bold and fearless.”

Tyler smiles.

“And so are you.”

“Definitely.”

Tyler persuades him to climb into the backseat, on the mattress that is mostly just an old duvet full of the bumpy cottonwool. Josh can’t even imagine Tyler sleeping here _alone_. Or, having sex with somebody in this truck.

“Should I help you like, undress?” Josh offers.

“Wait,” Tyler stops him when Josh just lifts the hem. “I didn’t warn you, that— that might scare you away.”

“Scare me away? Come on, I’m seeing diabolic creatures,” Josh mutters, shoving his hips towards Tyler’s.

He isn’t sure if he looks hot.

“I do this myself, okay?” Tyler says moodily.

Josh sits on his heels, giving Tyler more room.

“Sure.”

Tyler tugs his hoodie over his head then fumbling with the buttons on his shirt — one, two, ten, clumsily and hastily, nothing similar to a striptease.

When he’s done, Josh feels a lump in his throat.

Because here are the tattoos — black ones, forming triangles and something resembling a window below Tyler’s collarbones, a cross-shaped one on his left shoulder, thick black bands below. Carpe noctem on his right forearm, Roman numerals — Josh is sure they have some deeply religious meaning.

Three thin lines around Tyler’s left wrist.

And here are the scars, all across Tyler’s lower stomach, on his sides.

“Jesus,” Josh exhales, outstretching Tyler’s hands and inspecting them.

“I’ve told you about my two times. And the last one — last year — this,” there are long vertical cuts running up both of Tyler’s forearms, white welts half-covered with the black ink. “This had almost worked. I mean, I was officially dead for two minutes. Again,” Tyler doesn’t hide anymore, doesn’t blur his face. “I… I had a blood transfusion, but my unholy blood was devouring it, and… And I tried to get rid of it, over and over again, using razorblades and cutting, cutting, _cutting_ ,” he taps his fingertips against his arm. “Three bands here symbolize my suicide attempts.”

Josh can tell where the stitches were.

“Tyler, I— I don’t know how to react,” Josh says bluntly.

“Don’t say anything yet. It’s not over,” Tyler unties his pants and wiggles his legs to take them off. “It’s just a way to let _my_ demons out. Along with— with my blood, sometimes I feel like I consist of filth, and—”

Here are even more white lines, almost like a grid on both of Tyler’s upper thighs; welts upon welts are occupying his a bit paler skin, even on his knees. Tyler is scrawny but sinewy, scarred and bruised, and Josh swears he _will never let_ Tyler get the fourth band tattooed on his arm.

“Now you understand why I couldn’t get undressed?”

Crossed scrapes on his inner thigh are fresh, with the red aureole dried around.

“You did that during our sleepover?..”

Tyler nods.

“I got some problems with… my needs,” Tyler points at his boxers. “I simply couldn’t get myself off— _without you_. And I got mad.”

Tyler talks about it like it’s just his daily routine.

Josh still can’t stop thinking of that stupid map he can’t find.

“You don’t have to get mad about this.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Josh sheds off his sweatshirt and jeans, feeling bad for Tyler who is the only half naked person here; he piles their clothes in the farthest corner of the truck. Josh is only wearing his boxers, too, and Tyler is already lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“Do you really want it?” Josh gently tugs Tyler’s underwear down.

“Yes,” Tyler gasps out. His mangled skin is exposed now.

It’s just a blind desire, and Josh is besotted with the scent of Tyler’s skin, his natural one is masked with hints of deodorant and Josh’s cologne. He leans over and licks a long trail from Tyler’s ear to the contour of the tattoo on his chest, earning a groan, a thrust of Tyler’s clothed cock into his palm.

“Do we have lube?”

“We… We have some lotion in my bag.”

Josh tries not to think of a plague when he finds the lotion next to that wooden cross.

Josh just grabs the bottle, spilling the slippery liquid on his palm and smearing it down his fingers while Tyler kicks his boxers off. Josh thinks a second before bending and taking Tyler’s cross necklace off, tucking it into the pocket of his backpack.

“Now you got me stark naked,” Tyler comments.

Josh pauses to admire him before pulling his own boxers down and taking his half hard cock into his lotion-stained palm, giving it a few rhythmic jerks. Tyler swallows, eyes wide, and the blur inhumes everything again — Josh’s vision swims from both Tyler’s spells and his nervousness as he spreads Tyler’s legs to grind their cocks together, just kindling up their arousal.

Josh brushes his palms over Tyler’s hips, saying a thing he must say —

“I’m gonna finger you.”

And Tyler responds with the most innocent intonation —

“I’m tired of doing it by myself.”

Tyler bites his knuckles before Josh starts preparing him; he’s slick with lotion, and Josh’s fingers slide in and out with ease, stretching and loosening, while Josh’s glance is still focused on Tyler’s scars. Some of them are lined right above his groin —

“How do you want me to—”

“Just do something, Josh.”

And Josh is _ready_ , feeling a head rush, tender skin and the stirrings of ardor. But that’s when Josh realizes that they probably have no condoms since Tyler doesn’t ask him to use it. But in Josh’s opinion, Tyler is too saint to have any diseases.

“I’m clean,” Josh tells him just in case.

“I’m almost a virgin,” Tyler blurts out.

So expectedly.

They exchange puzzled glances after.

Josh can’t get enough of the blush that is heating up Tyler’s cheeks, settling on his neck and on his chest as Josh presses the wet tip of his cock against Tyler’s ass, caressing his thighs, Josh’s fingers are strumming Tyler’s self-harm scars like strings. Josh only takes Tyler’s cock in his hand, pumping him a bit faster, and Tyler scrapes his fingers down the metal wall of the truck, balling up his fists and grasping at the mattress while Josh gathers the pace, feeling the muscles in his lower stomach contract.

Josh heaves out a breath while Tyler’s precome leaks into his fist; then he quivers and comes into it messily, exhaling a _sorry_.

“That’s fine,” Josh comforts, jerking Tyler’s cock with his come-stained palm.

His hips slam against Tyler’s, his head rests on Tyler’s shoulder, here’s the mixture of sweat and lotion and come on his stomach, and —

“I think… I might get hard again.”

Tyler is hesitant, and Josh needs to get off, seeing the world through the prism of lust. Tyler pushes into Josh’s fist, again, his flaccid cock grows harder with every thrust, and Josh groans, because his own orgasm is about to wrap around him like a dense curtain. Josh changes the tempo and the tone of Tyler’s moans switches, a high-pitched whine on the brink of a sob, and Josh breathes into his neck sporadically.

And they’re just acting like horny teenagers, and Tyler is fully hard again.

It takes some time; Josh needs to slow down because here’s the sudden idea of coming at the same time. Josh’s heart is pounding in his ribcage as he’s pounding into Tyler, and he can’t hold it back anymore — it’s a vacuum inside his head, no thoughts registered, and it feels so fucking amazing as he climaxes — it works almost like a dose of adrenaline.

Here’s the thing Josh never knew he would need after dying and then getting back to life again. Tyler’s eyes are watering when his second orgasm hits, and his hands are like a noose around Josh’s neck, making him bend as Tyler is kissing him on the mouth.

“That’s what we call _established relationship_ ,” Tyler admits.

“Never had one,” Josh tries at least to breathe regularly even though it’s not him who has come twice. He rolls onto the thin mattress, the coldness seeps through his bones.

“Me too,” Tyler nods in full seriousness.

Josh’s soul is calm now, but the future is still far too vague.

“What are we gonna do next?”

“Only time will tell,” Tyler gnaws on his lips musingly. “But I got some Wet Ones in my backpack, so let’s start with cleaning ourselves up?”

Josh just can’t disagree.

 

***

 **Josh:** _how’s your paranoia?_

 **Ash:** _Blooming up. Yours?_

 **Josh:** _im much better now. gonna get back for work_

 **Ash:** _Cool. Btw, Mom is freaking out about you hanging out with T._

 **Josh:** _and what do /you/ think about t?_

 **Ash:** _He’s sweet_

They’re meeting each other after, a brother-sister not-a-party in the club.

“Tyler is contagious,” Ashley smirks, sipping on her cocktail.

That’s how Josh knows him.

 

***

Their next case shows how little control they have over the whole demon-expelling process. Tyler prays in both English and Latin, and Josh is more experienced now, holding a candle and a spare cross and echoing the spell, but the demon is far too strong. It’s not the one that was inside of Ruby, it’s a different kind of evil — it’s not alone here, Tyler squirms and hisses as he gets thrown up the wall, knocking the flowers off the nightstand.

The Creature is unstoppable.

Its face is splitting in two, along with the vessel’s head — it’s an old man with the IV stand connected to his arm, in a wheelchair — it rolls back and forth, almost running over Josh’s feet as he makes the cross sign with the candle.

“We drive you from us, whoever you may be, unclean spirits, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects,” Josh’s voice cracks, his limbs are as malleable as play-doh.

Tyler hums in Latin just above his ear, and that’s when the man’s head jerks for the last time. The hologram of the ugly face disappears, and even from his position a few inches away Josh can guess why.

Tyler doesn’t black out this time.

“He didn’t make it,” Tyler states.

Josh feels like a murderer.

The old man’s family cries and thanks them that the evil has finally left their poor grandpa Joe, who’s been dying from cancer, and they just wanted him to spend his last days without holding a satanic power inside of him.

And now Tyler just tells Josh not to worry about the corpse that is still sitting in the wheelchair with his face portraying a pure agony. Here’s the frothy blood on his lips.

And his family is grieving right now.

Tyler leads Josh out of the back door while here’s the commotion with calling the ambulance and picking the things back on their places not to make the house look suspicious. This time, the demon didn’t break the window. He didn’t break anything except Josh’s faith.

“What if the police gets us?”

Tyler drags him down the street where he parked his truck.

“They won’t remember my face.”

“But mine?”

“And they will not remember yours as well,” Tyler assures.

“That’s why you’re doing everything blurry?”

“Exactly.”

“Is this the first time—” the spikes puncture Josh’s brain; he stops near the tree, leaning his shoulder on it.

“When the vessel died? No, I saw this couple times before. It usually happens to the old family members,” Tyler explains impassively. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yes,” Josh croaks before stooping down and vomiting up his half-digested lunch all over Tyler’s Vans.

 

***

Tyler takes him to the motel here in Louisville because neither of them can drive tonight.

But Tyler has a condom in his kangaroo pocket — Tyler’s pockets are always full of useful things. Josh has no idea how their mutual attraction works — maybe it’s just _Tyler’s_ thing again; he just bends Tyler over the sink in the bathroom and fucks him hard. Tyler whines in a low voice, shuddering with every time Josh’s fingernails dig into the white lines on his thighs.

“Yes, just— yes—” 

“Is this fine?” Josh asks though he’s already heard the answer.

“Yes,” Tyler repeats, and the water from the tap drowns his Vans he was trying to clean up. They’re most likely ruined.

Josh’s t-shirt reeks of sweat, ache coils in his brainpan. He’s running out of his meds — having an episode right now would be just _great_.

Josh’s fingers are slippery with the proper lube, soapy as he clutches Tyler’s hands. And Josh fucks him, burying his nose into the scratchy hair on Tyler’s nape, his palms roam across Tyler’s ribs and stomach underneath his hoodie, and the bubbly water spills over the ceramic edges.

They’re standing in a growing puddle, but none of them cares.

Tyler throws his head back and Josh thrusts harder, jerking Tyler’s cock harshly, contemplating the black and white palette as he comes inside of him.

“Oh,” Josh slips on the water and Tyler turns the faucet off.

He’s right about to fish his shoes out of the depths, but Josh stops him, tugging at his hair and turning him around, so the small of his back hits the sink, and Josh is dropping to his knees, right in the cooling liquid on the floor. Josh is rushing, taking Tyler’s cock into his mouth, sucking and licking up the veins under the skin. Tyler moans, and Josh feels a twitch deep in his sternum; foamy splatters soak through his unfastened jeans, through his socks, and he wants to either throw up or come again.

But Josh doesn’t do any of those.

Tyler’s thighs are trembling, welts looming in front of Josh’s face as he nuzzles Tyler’s abdomen, and here’s a certain taste —

“Josh, I’m—”

Josh swallows as much as he can, mouth full of Tyler’s semen, his own sour saliva and his tears. Tyler goes limp immediately, nearly falling backwards, into the sink; Josh coughs, his throat and his kneecaps are sore.

Josh is aware that Tyler doesn’t like to put his _imperfections_ on display.

Tyler pulls his sweatpants up.

“Has that helped?”

“Yes,” Josh wipes his lips with his wrist.

And Tyler makes everything fuzzy. Or maybe, the love does.

As they go to bed, Josh finds Tyler’s cross necklace under his pillow.

 

***

Josh wakes up to a buzz of his phone.

It’s a message from his mother, just one sentence, it says:  _‘Ashley is missing’_ , and Josh drops the device between his knees, shaking a sleeping Tyler so vigorously he almost lands on the carpet beside the bed.

“What?” Tyler is wide-awake in seconds. “Nightmares again?”

“Worse,” Josh shows him a message.

Here are his wet fingerprints on the screen, in between the letters. Tyler adds even more fingerprints.

“It’s my fault,” Josh says, confident. “She’s been saying something about chasing, but then she blamed it on some mythic paranoia, and we laughed it off. Damn,” Josh bends to pick his still damp clothes off the chair.

“We’ll find her,” Tyler promises. “If…”

_‘If she’s alive.’_

“…if she’s really missing,” Tyler finishes.

That’s what partners do.

That’s when Josh begins to think that this might be related to his and Tyler’s business.

“She said she thought it was her boyfriend who was pranking her,” Josh scratches the stubble on his chin. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of that fucker.”

Here’s the rage, a violent outburst in Josh’s chest and in Josh’s muscles, and he shouldn’t succumb to emotions — when he gets so angry, his head hurts.

And it hurts right now.

“I’m going with you,” Tyler says.

Maybe he’s a little more than just a partner.

Maybe he just wants to be a little more than just a fuck buddy.

 

***

The road back to Columbus is a mess of thoughts and traffic signs — Josh doesn’t come back home, doesn’t go to his parents, scrolling through a bunch of messages from them, from Jordan and Abby.

Ashley’s boyfriend got some assholes as his friends.

Josh counts the hours and counts the steps as he runs towards Jesse’s house, he is about to kick the door just like he did it in Ruby’s room — but here’s Tyler’s hand on his back, his soothing voice, his _‘don’t do this.’_

And Josh doesn’t do this, just knocking politely.

And Jesse _doesn’t know_ where Ashley is — he doesn’t know _anything_ , even when Josh backs him against the doorframe and punches the wall next to his head.

“I don’t know what to do, Josh!” Jesse shouts as Josh cracks his knuckles.

Josh punches the wall again.

“Next one goes to your face, got it?” he warns.

Jesse tries to get rid of Josh’s arms on his shoulders, to fight back, and —

“I _love_ her. I was going to— fuck, we were supposed to mail out the wedding invitations yesterday! But she didn’t answer her phone, she never came home, and I just want _to help_ ,” Jesse pleads, and Josh just wants to grab him by his long hair and hit a fucking hole in the door, using Jesse’s lovely face.

But Josh just listens to him instead.

“I would never hurt her,” Jesse says. “Who’s that?” he points at the truck behind Josh’s back. Josh turns around just to see Tyler sitting on the hood. “Isn’t he the pastor’s son?”

“Why do you care about it this much?” Josh spits, the courage drains out of him.

He hates these mood swings.

Jesse adjusts the collar of his plaid shirt.

“Just asked.”

“So nice.”

This dude isn’t lying. His twin’s childhood friend, _Josh’s_ friend at some point — but it’s not a thing that matters right now.

“I’m calling the police,” Jesse informs him.

Josh nods.

“Whatever.”

Police is only good in finding the corpses. And Josh thinks of Tyler’s fiancé — about her body, about how _dead_ Tyler looked when he mentioned that.

Josh sways as he leaves the front porch, limping back to Tyler’s car — it’s just too overwhelming, too many events happen all at once, and Josh needs to activate another coping mechanism. Josh needs his meds.

“Ashley was right when she said you were nuts,” Jesse screams at his back.

Josh flips him off.

 

***

Days go by without any news; this is like living in Hell — Josh cuts his social life to a minimum, only comforting his parents and siblings. He experiences twelve episodes of a cluster headache within a couple days — and this is like living in Hell, too. Josh is not allowed to get back home, because his parents don’t want to lose him the way they _lost Ashley_.

His pills aren’t alleviating the pain.

His parents are beginning to mourn in advance — as if there’s no chance that Ashley is still alive — they just watch TV, they say that there are too many young girls go missing, and then their mutilated bodies are found in the woods or by the roadsides. Something flashes in Josh’s head then; the threads of surmises tangling over his brain, but he can’t pull it together. Here’s just a theory.

The police don’t give any prognoses.

Jesse comes over to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Dun, and they call him a _son_ , they make a cup of tea for him, they cry together in the kitchen. 

“Why the fuck are you talking about her like she’s dead?” Josh roars, throwing the mug on the floor and cracking it. “Why don’t you have any faith?”

Abby is sobbing. Jordan’s eyes are bloodshot, with the bags underneath.

“We are praying all the time,” their mother says.

They’re just pouring the profound words over the accident.

“Our girl… She had great plans,” their father adds. “God is looking after her.”

Josh wants to get out of this house.

Josh’s phone is half dead and so is he, shaking under the blanket and waiting for Tyler to stop bombarding him with messages.

 **Tyler:** _we need to talk_

 **Tyler:** _josh please it’s important_

 **Tyler:** _why don’t you reply??_

Missed calls (2)

 **Tyler:** _is it a break up?_

Tyler is probably going to give him another coordinates, to perform another ritual, to mop some floors, to suck him off — to do anything to distract him, but Josh doesn’t need any distraction. Josh physically can’t move when he’s in this headache-cycle. He wants to extract some information out of his nightmares — he’s craving to face an evil creation in his head; it never happens, but not in a _‘oh I slept just fine’_ way but in a _‘this wall is unbreakable’_ one.

His head hurts, an acute ache in his eye, it sticks to him since the morning.

Josh can’t skip a day off work though, satisfying his parents with a single _‘I’m okay’_.

Tyler has probably been calling him all night long — (96) the numbers read. Josh is a caricature of himself, getting into the bus, getting into the shopping center and changing into his black uniform.

“I heard of Ashley,” it is Mark’s _‘hi’_.

“I’ll find her,” Josh tiredly slumps into the chair.

She found him when he needed that so badly.

So he owes her a debt.

The shift goes in a regular pace until Josh enters the section 403 — he’s not sure what he’s doing here, but he’s addicted to what happened beside the shower cabin — he drinks this energy from the blood that had been shed here. He’s calling for it, he’s praying, and here’s something — the silhouettes begin to emerge in his mind, but Josh is daydreaming — he’s sitting on the edge of a bathtub where the woman was lying.

_The Rabbit Mask, the tux._

_Dead Rabbit Cult._

Josh is not capable of controlling the vortex of conclusions and choppy images — he’s in the epicenter of it though he’s aware of Mark asking him if he’s going to faint — and Josh has no answers, or he’s just getting all of them at the same time. He’s on his knees, in that damn section 403, but his mind is afloat, travelling to the place where the end of everything is — here’s the wrecked piano with the dust-covered keys, here are the dirty walls with the peeling off plastering and boarded up windows. Through the pain, through the silent agony Josh is forced to see the things that are beyond the scope of fiction — a girl in a white dress, with her face _familiarfamiliarfamiliar_.

The vision is tainting his brain as the figures in black suits appear, and Josh comes to with his own yelp blocked in his throat.

Mark is startled, standing next to him with his hand on his walkie-talkie, and Josh’s phone is buzzing persistently —

He _needs_ it.

He needs to tell Tyler about it.

And so Josh takes it, touching the screen as if it might burn his finger —

 **Tyler:**   _st. joseph byzantine church, cleveland_

 

***

Tyler waits near the EXIT sign.

Josh jumps into the passenger seat of his truck.

“How?” Josh exhales.

Tyler squeezes the steering wheel. The engine purrs steadily as Tyler drives them towards the highway. 

“I feel them, remember?”

Josh wants to calm down a boiling ocean in his chest.

Tyler’s white shirt peeks from underneath his black hoodie, and Josh now looks like his security guard.

“Do we have time?”   

“Eternity,” Tyler says. “Buckle up.”

Letting Tyler drive is like getting struck by lightning; he’s probably missing all the road signs and nearly runs over the trash containers. But he’s handling it, not losing the control for a second, even when Josh is afraid that the police is about to notice and stop them. The truck is drifting, almost throwing Josh off his seat.

“Tell me if you get carsick,” Tyler smirks.

Josh glares daggers at him.

“Shut up.”

And Tyler does shut up.

Cleveland has never been closer than it is now, these 150 miles just don’t exist — and here are the roads, lanes and alleys — and here’s the church. It’s massive and ominous, gothic style-like, and Josh clutches his head as soon as he gets out of the car. The knitting needle in his right temple is back, drilling a hole through his skull, screwing in his brain as if it’s about to start leaking out of Josh’s ears. The last time he took a pill of Verapamil, he was too nauseous to contain it.

Josh doesn’t want to whinge.

“Dead Rabbit is here,” Tyler forewarns him, taking the cross. “But I don’t know how many of them.”

“So it’s not just one person?” Josh squeaks out.

“It’s a _cult_ , Josh.”

Josh’s feet feel cold, but it’s not him who’s freezing — here’s the certain kind of a twin empathy.

It gives him hope.

It gives him faith when he and Tyler go through the heavy door that is just a toothless mouth of a monster, and the echo betrays them, their steps sound like thunder. They’re just the two explorers, the dumbest explorers ever. Here’s just the dust and obscurity, Josh’s nostrils feel too dry as he inhales, as he plods after Tyler, squinting at the shadows all around them.

Some of the shadows tilt their heads.

Josh’s mind is tricky.

“Don’t scream,” Tyler whispers, rounding the corner and retracting his hand from a humid wall.

Here’s the fetor of putrefaction in the air.

Josh gags.

Tyler gestures at him, and Josh totters to where Tyler’s hand shows — and he’s grateful he’s been warned. _They haven’t started yet._

But here’s the black altar. Here’s the black cloth draped over the bulky table in the center of the empty hall and here’s their target —

Josh’s mouth goes dry.

Ashley is lying there dressed in a wedding gown Josh didn’t know she owned. Josh wants to bolt to the altar and grab his sister, take her out of this horrible place; Tyler’s hand on the back of his uniform shirt is the only hindrance. Josh doesn’t want to obey.

“It’s the trap,” Tyler purses his lips. “Let’s get prepared first.”

He kisses the wooden cross, praying under his breath while Josh lights a church candle.

“God arises; His enemies are scattered and those who hate Him flee before Him,” Tyler mumbles, fetching the vial with the holy water.

The pain glows brighter, and Josh doesn’t know how much it will take for the episode to end.

“As smoke is driven away, so are they driven; as wax melts before the fire, so the wicked perish at the presence of God,” Josh syllables.

Tyler suddenly stops praying.

“They’re gonna attack us as we come in.”

Josh coughs as the smell gets more pungent.

“Do we have an excellent plan?”

Tyler habitually throws the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.   

“Catch your sister and run, run as fast as you can and try to get her into the car,” he says.

The flame begins to twinkle.

“But what about you?”

“I’ll try to stop them,” Tyler peeks into the church once again. “See the silver chalice behind the altar?” Tyler’s finger is like a barrel of a gun pointed in that direction. Josh follows it with his gaze.

“Yes.”

“Plunge the candle into it.”

Josh’s muscles are rigid, but he’s never been more determined to overcome the distance. The candle is burning his hand, and the sight of an unconscious Ashley gives him energy, _motivates_ him.

“I’m ready.”

Tyler bites the inside of his cheek.

“Go.”

Josh counts to one as if this second might change everything — and he sprints, the air is whistling in his ears along with his heartbeat, _thud, thud, thud_ , with the soles of his shoes — he reaches the altar in record time. No landmines, no sprays of acid — just his twin sister on the black curtain. Josh throws the shining candle into the chalice full of something red and viscous, the fire sizzles before dying away.

“Ash?” Josh whispers as he picks her up.

He wasn’t told to keep silent here.

Ashley moans into his shoulder as he gets ready to scurry away — and here’s when the trap works. Josh stops dead in his tracks, right beside the altar, with the useless gun in a holster. Five figures in rabbit masks are slowly approaching Tyler who just stands in the middle of the church with his cross as the only weapon.

Josh reads his lips.

_“Run.”_

Josh’s hands are wet with sweat.

_“Do it.”_

Josh falters.

Meanwhile, Tyler flies across the church, shoved by one of the Rabbit Masks, their pristine-white gloves are stained maroon and grey. Tyler hacks up a crimson mucus, hitting the scaffolding and crashing down into the pile of building materials.

“We… drive you from us… whoever you may be, unclean s-spirits,” Josh hears his voice. “All satanic powers, all infernal invaders, all wicked legions, assemblies and sects,” the coughing fit is suffocating him. “Message… Man. Run,” Tyler orders, getting up, all covered up in cinder.

Rabbit Masks slug to Josh.

“May you be snatched away and driven,” Tyler’s eyes turn bloody-red as he stands here like a soldier, clutching his cross necklace.

Tyler’s wooden cross turns to just a bunch of flinders.

Josh is going to save him later though he hates it — he rushes forward, with Ashley in his arms, he leaps over the stones and loose floorboards while Rabbit Masks are too busy assaulting Tyler, jostling him around and knocking him off his feet repeatedly, just like a group of bullies against a single highschool nerd. Dead Rabbit has probably been hunting Tyler since forever, and now they’re just using everything they can find — boulders, sticks, handfuls of sand — Josh can hear him cry and scream as he gallops to the door, to the sunlight, to the freedom that is represented by Tyler’s blue truck.

Josh lays his semi-conscious sister into the backseat, the mattress is still here, and oh God how he wants to stay here with her — oh _God_ , how he wants to go and help Tyler. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promises before snatching the spare cross from the glove box.

When Josh gets back to the battlefield, the war is almost over because all five members of the Dead Rabbit Cult are just clobbering Tyler. He wheezes as their dress shoes collide with his sides, he locks his forearms to protect his _blurred_ face, but Rabbit Masks are ruthless; they pin Tyler down to the dirt, they stomp on his palms and kick him around like a ball. Tyler is bleeding from several gashes on his cheeks, in his head, the dust powders his injuries.

Rabbit Masks’ moves are mechanic, they’re detecting Tyler’s weak spots with the pinpoint accuracy. Tyler crawls to his backpack, but a millisecond later he’s stopped by another hit — a crowbar slams into the back of his head, drawing a fresh rill of blood.

And Josh simply can’t stand against it. He can’t stand it either.

He has to do something or he’s bound to lose. 

Underneath their masks Josh sees the Devil himself — there are no faces, there are the heinous snouts. Their eye sockets are deformed, their heads are mummified hives of bees, half disguised as the innocent rabbit’s features. They blink with their vertical eyelids, with their long vertical pupils on their neon-yellow eyeballs, they shake their rabbits’ ears, they’re the unadulterated evil. White and black — the most classic colors as the Satan’s dress-code.

Only the thought about Ashley and Tyler doesn’t let Josh pass out right here.

“The sacred Sign of the Cross commands you,” Josh declaims, holding up the cross.

The dread devours all the feelings.

Tyler doesn’t move anymore.

But Josh continues the ritual by himself though he needs something much stronger than just his words. He picks one of the boulders and throws it into the nearest Rabbit Mask — the boulder goes through their head. And this mistake ricochets at Josh as a sucker-punch in his chest, leaving him bent over with his mouth agape.

“Be gone… Satan, inventor and master of… all deceit, _enemy_ of man’s salvation,” he reads from memory when his palms begin to itch, the skin begins to crack, revealing deep round sores on his palms and on the backs of his hands, just like —

 _Stigmata_.

The pain courses through the tendons and tissues, the blood gushing out of the stigmata looks almost black; it spreads on Josh’s knuckles, too, making him hiss and bite his tongue. It’s not the holes through Josh’s palms, but the layers of his skin here look wrinkled and burned down. Moving his fingers hurts, breathing hurts —

Josh is pretty sure his feet are bleeding, too, but it doesn’t matter when the Rabbit Masks stop tossing chunks of wood at an unconscious Tyler. Here’s the glint that makes them step away and that makes Josh cover his eyes with the crook of his elbow.

“From the snares of the devil, deliver us, O Lord,” the voice says, the voice sings, and it neither Josh nor Tyler’s voice, it comes out of the lips of the girl who materializes on the ruins.

She’s not real, she’s a flashing hallucination in her off the shoulder wedding dress, with the white flowers braided into her blonde hair. She gives Josh a gentle smile before frowning at the Rabbit Masks. They raise their hands solemnly, forming a small circle as she goes towards Tyler.

She’s like an angel.

She kneels in front of Tyler, turning to Josh and looking at him as if she’s asking for his permission — he nods, he doesn’t know why. The _bride_ nods, too, leaning in and placing a kiss on Tyler’s bruised lips, staining her chin with the blood streaming from the corner of his mouth.

Here’s a twinge of jealousy somewhere in Josh’s gut.

Here’s a cross necklace on her neck, the one similar to Tyler’s, it dangles in the air as the girl leans for another kiss and then stands up, throwing her hands up to the sky. The rays of light seep through the cracks in the wall, through the broken window frames, and the Rabbit Masks are shrinking, getting smaller inch by inch as the defective balloons, hunching under the weight of their tuxes.

And Josh hears the melody that’s being transmitted straight to his brain, Christmas bells and the piano, accentuated by the smarmy voice. It’s lulling Josh to sleep, but he still fights the urge — he can’t, he can’t do it when Tyler’s face is so pallid and his limbs are thrown in _unhealthy_ angles. Josh wipes his aching palms on his pants, right on the blood-permeated fabric; the blood staunches a little as he does so.

The Rabbit Masks genuflect to the ground, gradually losing their majesty.

And Josh is the last one standing, his brain is snapping in and out of consciousness.

The melody grows louder, but he can’t comprehend if there are the lyrics.  

The ceiling spins, and with this, everything goes black. 

 

***

Josh does the research, abusing his phone while he’s sitting in the waiting room in Cleveland Medical Center. He hates hospitals, hates these corridors and hates being watched by the doctors and patients bustling around. Josh vaguely remembers the car, the blood, that oxygen mask on his face to _kill_ his headache, Ashley’s voice —

Ashley is still on medical survey, she’s shocked, but she was the one who called the police and ambulance while Josh and Tyler were still passed out at St. Joseph Byzantine’s. Ashley helped Josh save their souls with that call. Again.

Tyler hasn’t woken up yet; Josh was told that Tyler’s condition is stable.

Both of Josh’s hands are bandaged, red patterns adorn the white canvas. Josh’s uniform is ripped in various places, body mottled with the hot bruises, his heart is hammering non-stop. He has the wounds on his legs, too, but they’re not that terrible. Josh thinks that here’s the end of his powers, but some of the patients have familiarly ugly faces, ugly souls — Josh can’t tell if it’s just their crimes or the real evil; he needs Tyler to recognize that. It’s just a routine of constantly blinking and shaking his head to make the visions go away. And Josh is waiting, hours upon hours of suspense — the police find a white glove in the church, the only piece of evidence that doesn’t prove anything.

Josh doesn’t want to go back to his hospital ward. He flinches when a message pops up on the screen of his phone.

 **Jordan:** _DAMMIT JOSH_

Josh smiles a little, replying with _‘i love you too bro.’_

“Mr. Dun?”

Josh flinches again.

“He wants to see you,” the nurse with a blank face says.

Josh chokes on his saliva.

“How is he?”

The nurse looks down at the clipboard.

“Well… Severe concussion, multiple hematomas, three of his ribs are fractured, and he’s got a liver contusion,” she enlists, her face is still _blank_. “He’s been asking for you since he woke up.”

With that, she turns back to the door. Josh wants to burn himself alive for thinking that his injuries were _fatal_. He nearly crosses himself before entering Tyler’s hospital ward.

“He’s still a bit confused and doesn’t quite remember what happened,” the nurse explains.

“That’s okay,” Josh nods.

That’s not okay.

Tyler looks as poor as the nurse described him — he’s connected to the tubes and wires, but he tries to wave at Josh as he walks in. At least, Josh takes the jerk of his hand as waving.

“Hey,” Josh greets. “How are you doing?”

The crust in the corner of Tyler’s lips doesn’t let him open his mouth properly.

“It hurts to cough,” Tyler rustles out. “But I can breathe. On this occasion, I’m really proud of it,” he closes his eyes and swallows hard. “They’re constantly asking me if I remember my full name and my age, is it even normal?”

Josh presses his palms to his temples, the dormant pain is about to surface; and Tyler’s head is bandaged, with the mop of his greasy hair sticking through the gauze. There are the red speckles on his hospital gown, varicolored bruises on his face and grazes on his arms.

_‘He’s still confused.’_

He’s probably too exhausted to create that mist around him.

Josh’s tongue is itching to ask about some details.

Tyler looks scared.

“Did she want to say goodbye?” Josh gibbers out.

“Who?”

It’s like blowing down a house of cards.

“That bride, her _ghost_ , I mean— she came out of nowhere, and I swear to God she stopped the rabbit-heads, and then… She…” Josh stutters when Tyler’s face falls. “She kissed you. I don’t know, you were so out of everything, but that looked like— she casted them out with the power she took from you.”

Josh can’t recall a dismal melody he heard in St. Joseph Byzantine church.

Here’s Tyler’s cross necklace on his bedside table.

“She had one,” Josh points at the small golden thing.

Tyler’s glance follows Josh’s movement.

“It’s _hers_.”

Those metaphorical cards scatter across the surface, but Josh can’t just stop himself.  

“Did your fiancé pass away because of the Dead Rabbit? Did they— did they _sacrifice_ her?”

These words re-open Tyler’s old wounds, it’s clear for Josh, but Tyler gives him a nod. 

And it’s enough for the facts to stick together.

Josh’s brain is stuffed full of bad memories.

He sits beside Tyler’s bed, in a plastic chair, feeling almost like his mother felt, visiting him in the hospital for the first time. He’s frazzled, his head is heavy and his hands are clumsy as he intertwines his fingers with Tyler’s.

Tyler doesn’t smell like olibanum anymore.

Josh begins to just doze off like this.

“The police found Satanists’ attributes in the church,” Ashley’s voice shoots through the silence. “I only remember being held in a dark basement, but I feel like I have to thank you? Tyler? I’m Ashley, by the way,” she says enthusiastically.

She timidly pecks Tyler’s cheek.

“Glad to meet the Dun Twins both conscious,” Tyler replies with a wince that is supposed to be taken as a grin.

Wordless, Josh leans to give his twin a hug.

Ashley pats his shoulder.

“I’m terrified, guys. Everyone thinks I got kidnapped by the sectarians,” Ashley scowls. “And they ruined my wedding dress,” she says. She’s now wearing a loose t-shirt and leggings. “Jesse’s gonna be pissed; though I’ve already called him and he _cried_. Oh, and our parents are waiting in the car.”

Josh feels dizzy; now he has to go through the Hell of explaining everything to his family. Tyler shifts under the blanket.

“You better go away.”

“Why?”

“Because _my parents_ are going to be here soon,” Tyler points out.

It’s gonna be a big disaster.

“But I can stay if you want,” Josh shrugs. “I just need to show up for my Mom and Dad to prove them I’m alive, and I’ll be back soon. Ash, can you please stop them before they trash the hospital, searching for us?”

These family meetings are only irritating him.

“Sure,” Ashley throws her thumbs up, going to the door.

She’s taken the ordeal better than both Josh and Tyler.

She’s always here to stand up for Josh.

Josh places his palm on Tyler’s hot forehead, on these bandages.

“Try to sleep.”

“I’m not allowed to sleep until they finish,” Tyler complains. “Something’s wrong with my _brain_. I don’t know. Can you talk to me not to let me fall asleep? I’m so _fucking_ tired.”

Concussion might do that.

Josh loathes these pointless hospital conversations, but —

“You’re gonna recover,” he says.

“You never leave,” Tyler replies quietly.

 

***

By the time Josh flees back to Tyler’s hospital ward, his shoulders are wet from his mother’s tears, and his palms are stinging as the stigmata heal. Josh still wants to join his family on their ride back home, to jump into their everything-is-gonna-be-fine boat, but he can’t leave his bedridden friend.

Tyler is more than just a friend.

Tyler’s parents are here already, sitting on his bed and discussing the possibility of taking him back to Columbus. Tyler’s mother is weeping, gripping at the green blanket, and his father looks like he’s about to start pulling out his grey hair.

“Here’s Josh,” Tyler declares once Josh freezes in the doorframe. “We’re dating.”

Josh isn’t sure if it’s Tyler’s concussion and painkillers or he just wants to piss off his parents.

“Tyler, you’re rambling _again_ ,” his mother scolds him softly.

“We need to talk about your treatment, son,” Tyler’s father sighs.

And this ‘treatment’ means ‘to lock Tyler in a nuthouse again’; Josh wants to tear these people apart with his bare hands. He’s probably never been angrier than he is now.

Tyler’s sunken eyes are glazed over.

“Tyler, we’ll find a good specialist for you,” Tyler’s mother coos.

Josh’s head begins to hurt again.

“Josh, tell them,” Tyler implores. “Please. I’m not crazy.”

It’s just a partnership, a friends-with-benefits thing; Josh doesn’t want to be a part of this religious conflict, to drag Tyler down —

Tyler is going to die in that shitty mental hospital. Three bands tattooed on Tyler’s arm, Josh remembers.

Josh can’t keep lying to himself.

“We’re _dating_ ,” Josh says honestly.

He didn’t imagine it could go this way.

Pastor Chris Joseph doesn’t look intimidating, but his icy-cold glare does.

 

***

Josh can still see the demons, but Tyler doesn’t mop the floors in the church anymore. After the recovery, he sells his house so he and Josh can live together, so they can control each other’s quirks. Tyler doesn’t let Josh overdose when that cluster headache tortures him, and Josh doesn’t let Tyler even _think_ of death when he’s sure he’s done something wrong. Instead, they try to make the music though their first demos probably sound unprofessional and stupid, but here’s the way to combine Josh’s electronic drums and Tyler’s depressive poetry.

Josh is grateful he owns these drums now.

Tyler is _crazy_ and talented.

“It’s like cutting my soul, not my body,” Tyler admits, re-reading the verse he’s just written.

_‘I swear I heard demons yelling.’_

Josh heard them too.

They buy these matching skeleton hoodies with the zippers up the skull-designed hoods, with the slits for the eyes. _‘Just to look like Them,’_ Tyler says. But hey mostly look like an old married couple. And Josh enjoys it.

The twin connection between Josh and Ashley grows even stronger.

And Josh has a tie with Tyler, too.

It’s been four months without any manifestations of the Dead Rabbit.

Josh still has this job in the shopping center; Tyler is finally on good terms with his parents. Though, they don’t talk much, but Josh’s family visits them in the church on Sundays. And it’s awkward, because Tyler’s mother always asks him to roll up his sleeves, she checks his veins and pupils, and _‘dear, have you taken your antidepressants?’_ Tyler’s father pretends that Josh just doesn’t exist.

And Josh doesn’t mind.

“Will we ever be clean?” Josh ponders once they leave the church.

Tyler shrugs indifferently.

“Nope. But we can just relish the calm before the storm.”

The tempest is coming.

They’ve already ruined a plan ( _or three, or four_ ) together although both of them are so very far from being the _saints_. They’re just two addicts; they’re on mutual suicide watch, all provided by themselves.

And they’re naïve enough to think that it works. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a [ real pic](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/51a53244e4b0cf20ca0c4f7a/t/54581e21e4b0d75692c35e20/1415061043270/) from St. Joseph Byzantine Catholic Church  
> \---  
> song references:  
> Billy Talent - The Dead Can't Testify  
> Creature Feature - Here There Be Witches  
> and of course -  
> twenty one pilots - Ode To Sleep
> 
> movie:  
> Deliver us From Evil (a thing that inspired me)  
> \---  
> it now reminds me of my _they're coming down the hall_ fic, because CULTS


End file.
